


Tandem

by vandevere



Category: Law & Order, The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two El Rico Abductees, their lives lived in tandem</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

_11/23/73_

_Near El Rico Airbase_

_George Atkinson had given the young attorney the use of his own vacation cabin._

_"Jack, my boy, think of it as a "Promotion Present," Atkinson had said._

_John James McCoy-Jack to one and all-had survived Atkinson's tutelage; had been accepted as Second Chair to Manhattan's Executive Assistant DA, Adam Schiff._

_So, before heading off to the bright lights of Manhattan, Jack McCoy had been given the chance to take a vacation._

_It was a Biker's dream, Atkinson's vacation cabin stocked with all sorts of necessities, including some **very** good scotch, and miles of road that nobody used anymore._

_So, on the road, wind screaming all around him, McCoy let the machine howl down the abandoned road._

_The speed…the absolute sense of freedom…_

_Heaven…_

_Then…everything went… **white.**_

_The bike skidded out from under McCoy, and he felt his gloved hands lose the handlebar…_

* * *

_1994_

_1 Hogan Place_

Jack McCoy jerked awake. At first he didn't know where he was.

_That damned nightmare again…_

It always left him feeling a little bit scrambled.

It was dark, inside and out, and he was lying on a couch.

_Oh, yes…_

Now he remembered.

_1 Hogan place; my office, newly appointed to the position of Executive Assistant DA, by Adam Schiff himself._

McCoy sat up, running hands through his hair, looked at the clock on the wall.

_4:25 AM_

He snorted and lay back down on the couch. No reason to bother going home now…

* * *

Jeffrey Spender, studying at Quantico, had every expectation of making the grade, of becoming a FBI Agent. He knew he was doing well. Only one thing worried him.

FBI Agents were required to spend a good deal of their time on the road, away from home; and he often worried about his mother, Cassandra Spender.

There was a Housekeeper/Companion who looked after her. But Jeffrey wasn't exactly sure where the money for this was coming from. _He_ certainly didn't have that kind of money.

Cassandra Spender was apparently a _very_ special case.

In more ways than one…

She was a believer…

Not so much in God as in…Extraterrestrial Entities.

_Aliens…_

Every so often, Cassandra Spender would…disappear; just vanish without a trace, no mean feat for a woman confined to a wheelchair.

She always returned, in a condition closely approaching religious mania, speaking of benevolent aliens whose only wish was to uplift humanity into a galactic golden age.

Jeffrey Spender had lived with those stories his whole life. They were an integral part of his childhood.

Those stories…so beautiful, so kind, and, at the heart of it all, so… _silly._

Thankfully, there were always people there, to look after her, for simple things like making sure she came in out of the rain, took her vitamins, and had physical therapy too.

Jeffrey just didn't know _who_ was paying for all of this very high-quality care.

And, on certain days, coming home from school, or work, Jeffrey would enter his mother's room, and he would smell cigarette smoke…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox Mulder pursues a case to Manhattan,  
> with consequences for EADA Jack McCoy...

_Manhattan, 1994_

_1 Hogan Place_

"Now we're reduced to being assistants to the FBI," Detective Mike Logan grumbled.

Detective Lennie Briscoe nodded in agreement; insulted that the _Fucking Big Idiots_ apparently didn't trust the _27th_ to locate one little serial killer.

_At least the FBI Agent-In-Charge sounds like an interesting guy…_

Briscoe snorted.

Interesting…

Fox William Mulder…

Scuttlebutt said the man didn't like people calling him by his first name; and Lennie didn't blame him.

_What kind of parents name their kid Fox?_

Scuttlebutt also had just a little bit more to say on Agent Mulder.

"Apparently, Agent Mulder believes in Little Green Men," Briscoe chuckled.

"No kidding…" Logan scoffed. "We're being bossed by a nut-case?"

"Looks that way…" Lennie took a swig of cold coffee.

"Gee…" Logan muttered softly. "Now I know why my Spidey Sense is tingling…"

Lennie tuned him out, looking at their designated target.

_Albert Koster, suspect in a series of killings, starting in Alabama, and working his way up to here._

Seven people dead, four men, three women, no common pattern linking them together, and not enough physical evidence to justify an arrest…

_Here he is, sitting on a bench in front of 1 Hogan Place. Does his next victim work here?_

Albert Koster was thirty three years old, and he looked like a college professor, not a serial killer; tall, slender of build, with wide-rimmed glasses.

But Briscoe could see him rocking slightly on that bench, rocking back and forth, and lips moving as he rocked.

Lennie's earwig buzzed, Agent Mulder's voice sounding in his ear.

"What's he doing?" the FBI Agent asked. "I don't have a clear view."

"He's rocking, and talking to himself," Briscoe said. "Why don't we just take him in?"

"We don't know who his intended victim is," Mulder explained. "We need to learn that too, to see if we can uncover the pattern that links the victims together."

"The guy's a loon," Lennie snapped. "Let's just get him off the street, save his would-be victim a whole lot of worry."

"Uh…Lennie…" Mike Logan spoke up. "Our boy is on the move."

Koster was standing now, hands thrust into jacket pockets, his muttering even more frenzied as he stared at…

The new Executive Assistant DA, Ben Stone's replacement, Jack McCoy…

McCoy's pace was brisk as he left the building. Koster, still muttering, began to move too…

 _That's it,_ Lennie decided.

"Take Koster down now," he spoke into his earwig. "Move it!"

It happened quickly; several plains-clothes officers converging on Albert Koster, bringing him down, wrists cuffed behind his back, right in front of a perplexed Jack McCoy.

* * *

Fox Mulder took a chair in one of the _27th's_ Interrogation Chambers, sitting across from Albert Koster. Koster's eyes were fixed on Mulder.

"Hello, Albert," he said. "I'd like to talk to you, maybe even help you, if I can."

"Help me?" Koster cocked his head, blinking oddly. "Let me see Jack…"

"Jack…Jack _who?_ "

Koster hissed in frustration, cuffed hands thumping the table.

"Jack…Jack…Jack!" he spat the words out, making the name sound like a curse.

"Jack!" he continued. "He's here now, but he was _there!_ I _saw_ him there!"

"Like these people?" Mulder brought out a sheaf of photographs, laid them, face up, on the table.

"Were they... _there_ too?"

"Won't say…" Koster turned away from the photographs. "Want to see Jack first. Won't say until then…"

Mulder sighed, looking back at the mirror.

* * *

Agent Dana Katherine Scully echoed Mulder's sigh. Only a little over a month had passed since she had awakened from the coma following her abduction by Duane Barry, and she still felt a little raw about it…

Mulder stepped outside the Interrogation Chamber.

"He's not going to give us what we want until we give him what _he_ wants," he sighed again.

"Why should we give him what he wants?" Scully demanded. "It's pretty clear he was planning to kill Jack McCoy. He can't possibly believe we would give him another crack at him."

"The seven other victims…Scully, five of them were identified by _MUFON_ as repeat alien abductees. The other two weren't identified as such, but showed clear patterns of disappearances that could indicate multiple abductions over several years."

"So…ipse facto that means EADA Jack McCoy _must_ be a victim of alien abduction too?"

Sometimes Mulder's fixation on Alien Abduction made Scully want to scream.

"Just see if you can get him to come over, Scully. We need him to get Koster to open up."

Scully put the momentary surge of irritation down.

_What does he think I've got…a magic wand?_

"Scully?"

"All right," she sighed. "I'll see if I can get Mr. McCoy to come over."

* * *

_1 Hogan Place_

"Are you _serious?_ " Jack McCoy stared incredulously at the petite redhead. "Agent Mulder wants me to have a little chat with the man who wanted to kill me?"

Agent Scully had the decency to blush, an apologetic smile gracing her features.

"Albert Koster," she said. "He made seeing you part of his price for cooperation..."

"That's your problem, not mine," McCoy busied himself with folders and files, stuffing a select few into his briefcase as he continued to speak.

"Besides, I've heard of Agent Mulder's reputation, and I have no desire to get caught up in…Alien Mysteries."

Scully nodded resignedly.

"It doesn't help that he can be a bit of an ass about it," she muttered.

McCoy heard a chuckle at the door, quickly smothered.

_Adam Schiff…_

"Agent Mulder isn't the only one who can be an ass at times," Schiff was smiling openly now. "It wouldn't hurt for us to cooperate with the FBI every once in a while."

"Adam…"

"Quit being a putz, Jack, and help the young lady do her job," Schiff regarded him sternly. "Your Second Chair can handle the caseload while you go out and do your civic duty."

McCoy put the legal briefs down on his desk.

 _I guess it's decided_ … he sighed.

* * *

Mulder turned to see Scully enter, followed by a clearly unwilling Jack McCoy. The man leveled a hawk glare at him.

"You wanted me to see your guy?" McCoy demanded.

"Actually…he wanted to see _you_ ," Mulder explained. "You won't be alone. I'll be there with you. You ready?"

McCoy glanced at the man in the Interrogation Chamber, rocking, and muttering softly to himself.

"Let's just get this over with," the EADA grumbled.

Mulder entered the chamber, heard McCoy following just behind.

Mulder sat, McCoy remained standing, and Koster looked up, eyes fixing on McCoy.

"Jack…"

Koster continued to stare at McCoy, eyes intent, the focus almost frightening.

Jack McCoy looked back at him, blandly; the expressionless gaze of a seasoned poker player.

_Or one hell of a prosecutor…_

"I'm here," Jack McCoy spoke. "What was it you wanted from me?"

Koster looked up at him.

"Cassandra…Duane…and Max…" he closed his eyes as he recited the names.

McCoy frowned.

"I don't know those names," he said at last.

But Mulder did.

Two of them, at least…

_Duane Barry and Max Fenig…_

Duane Barry was dead, murdered by Alex Krycek, in order to keep the Consortium's secrets; and Max Fenig…

Mulder hoped Fenig was dead too.

The alternative was just too painful to contemplate.

"Cassandra…Duane…and Max…" Koster repeated the names like a mantra.

McCoy shook his head impatiently.

"I don't know them," he snapped. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Koster sat there, hands cuffed in front. Then, he moved…

He jumped, chair flying backward. He leaped over the table, hurling himself at the attorney, pinning him to the wall, cuffed hands at his throat, shrieking the names in his ear.

_Cassandra…Duane…and Max…_

Over and over again, Koster screamed the names right in McCoy's face, spittle spraying…

* * *

He couldn't breathe. Paralyzed by sudden terror, Jack McCoy couldn't even bring his hands up to fight the man off.

"Cassandra…Duane…and Max!"

Those names shrieked into his ear as his breath was throttled right out of him. Then, someone pulled Koster off…

Back against the wall, McCoy slid to the floor, heart hammering in his chest. He was vaguely aware of the scuffle occurring just a few feet away. Red hair, and very blue eyes hove into his field of view, strong fingers gripping his wrist to take his pulse, the other hand settling on his forehead.

 _A mother's touch_ … McCoy thought dazedly.

He pulled her fingers from his wrist.

"I'm fine, Agent Scully," he tried to pull himself back to his feet, didn't quite succeed.

"Give yourself time to catch your breath, at least," Scully snapped as she eased him back to the floor, muttering imprecations at the mule-headed stubbornness of men in general.

Ten minutes later, Albert Koster was placed in Solitary Confinement, pending a Psychiatric Evaluation by Dr. Emil Skoda, and Jack McCoy was back on his feet; Mulder and Scully both looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Mulder began. "I just didn't expect him to-"

" _Don't,_ " Suddenly, McCoy was… _furious_. "I did my bit. You're on your own with Koster."

He straightened his collar and tie, then stormed out of the _27th's_ Holding Area…

* * *

Two hours later, Jack McCoy was back at court; Claire Kincaid sitting Second Chair. The case was murder; a man accused of killing his unfaithful wife…

An open-and-shut case, it looked like. Both the Defense and Prosecution had rested their cases.

"You okay?" Claire whispered. "I heard you had an adventure today…"

"An adventure…" McCoy scoffed. "I got screamed at by a lunatic. That sound like an adventure to you?"

Judge Harrow entered the court-room.

Now, it was time to proceed with the Summation…

After the Defense attorney said his piece, Jack McCoy stood, ready to face the jury.

"The Defense alleges that the Defendant was moved by rage," he said. "Rage at the infidelities of his wife, that he was so profoundly enraged by his spouse's cheating, that the only recourse left to him was murder. But the Law offers remedies for marital infidelity. That remedy is called… _Divorce_."

He turned to face the jury as he spoke; twelve men and women. A thirteenth stood there, just off to the right.

A man, slender, blond and fuzzy; his mother would have called him a _wooly lamb_ …

McCoy collected himself, continued with the Summation.

"The People grant that Mrs. Stowe cheated on her husband. But, male pride notwithstanding, that didn't give Mr. Stowe the right to take her life…"

That thin, blond man was… _right there_ …in front of him, blood on his face, terror in his eyes…

A name floated up from nowhere…

_Max..?_

Chills creeping up McCoy's spine…

"Mr. McCoy?" he barely heard Judge Harrow's voice.

_Max…_

The young man's eyes were agonized, the eyes of a dying man, blood from nose and mouth staining everything.

Jack McCoy looked down, at his own hands, at the bloodstains there…

His ears were buzzing, the throbbing sound erasing all other sound, the world going gray and sparkly.

He didn't feel it when he hit the floor…

_He's kneeling by Max Fenig's body, trying to stop the bleeding, or-failing that-to give whatever comfort he can. Hands pull him away, hurling him back to the floor, with almost contemptuous ease._

_Those hands…not human…_

_Suddenly, he can't move, arms and legs turned to jelly. **They** stand over him now; heads overlarge, mouths tiny, noses nonexistent, eyes… **huge** …huge depthless black eyes with no white in them at all…_

Jack McCoy jerked upright, to a sitting position.

 _Where_ …

It wasn't the courthouse…

_A hospital?_

Claire Kincaid's hand on his shoulder; he looked down at himself.

Shirt open, undershirt cut open too, electrodes on his bare chest, itchy cannulas in his nose…

_What happened?_

"Lie down, Jack," Claire sounded shaken.

"Why am I here?"

"You _fainted_ , Jack" her grip on his arm tightened. "You were out for more than thirty minutes."

"I'm…fine," McCoy grumbled, pulling the cannulas out of his nose.

"People who are _fine_ don't generally curl their toes in courthouses," Adam Schiff's hands on his shoulders, forcing Jack McCoy to lie down again as Claire put those cannulas back into his nose.

_Trapped…_

"What happened to the trial?" McCoy feared a mistrial might be in the offing. It wasn't every day the EADA keeled over…

"It will resume tomorrow," Schiff assured him. "With Claire sitting in your place."

A woman entered the room.

"Dr. Brady," Claire stood. "What's the news?"

"His heart's fine," Brady said.

"Good," McCoy sat up again, pulled those blasted cannulas out. "I can get out of here."

"Jack…" Claire began.

Dr. Brady wasn't finished.

"Your blood sugar levels are another matter entirely, Mr. McCoy," she said. "Did you remember to eat breakfast or lunch today?"

"Of course not…" Schiff's sigh was exasperated; and McCoy could only bow his head.

"Guilty as charged," he sighed too.

_Well… **that's** embarrassing…_

"Am I free to go?" McCoy didn't even bother to fight the blush that was warming his cheeks.

"If you have someone who will take you home," Brady nodded. "And make sure you eat something and get some rest."

Schiff nodded too; gave McCoy a pointed glare.

"I thought you had grown out of that when you were my Second Chair," he scolded.

McCoy winced at Schiff's tone.

"Sorry," he muttered. "It's been…a bad day."

"All right," Schiff sighed. "Let's get you home. What's in your kitchen, by the way?"

_Not much…_

Jack McCoy had never been much of a cook…

"We can stop at a restaurant first," Claire suggested.

"Yes," Schiff sent a piercing glare in McCoy's direction.

Again, Jack McCoy winced.

The ride home wasn't going to be fun at all…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack McCoy goes missing...

_4/16/96_

_Quantico_

Detective John Munch had taken a personal day to do this. Nobody in Manhattan, or Baltimore, had any idea what to do. The disappearance had been so complete, so…unexpected.

So, here John Munch was, wearing a Visitor's ID Tag, walking down to the Basement Office, seeking the help of _the FBI's most unwanted_ in the disappearance of EADA Jack McCoy.

Sitting in front of Agent Mulder's desk, feeling like a petitioner, folder of files in his hands, and he had no idea how to begin; except at the beginning.

"He disappeared about three months ago," Munch passed the folder over to Mulder. "Here are the initial reports, written by Claire Kincaid, and Adam Schiff…"

* * *

_1/11/96_

_1 Hogan Place_

Jack McCoy rubbed his forehead irritably. He could feel the migraine taking shape behind his right eye.

_Shit…_

Two murders and a kidnapping; he didn't have time for a migraine…

Still rubbing at his right eye, he felt a sense of futility.

In just a few hours, he would be curled up somewhere, whimpering in agony, heaving his guts out. Even the sumatriptan wasn't helping this time.

"Jack," Adam Schiff, standing just inside the door. "Aren't you heading home yet?"

"Not yet…"

At the rate his migraine was progressing, not at all…

He gritted his teeth as a spear of agony blossomed behind his right eye.

"Migraine?" Schiff had known about his migraines since the Seventies.

"Did you take your Sumatriptan?"

"Yeah…" McCoy's shoulders slumped. "It's not working…"

Adam regarded him.

"You're going to spend the night here," not a question.

"Safer than trying to ride a bike with a migraine," McCoy sighed.

_Yeah… **that** would end well…_

Schiff nodded.

"I'll be back," he disappeared into his own office.

McCoy rubbed his eyes again, and put the file he had been working on to one side.

Auras were beginning to pulse…

_Damn…this is going to be a bad one…_

"Lie down on the couch, Jack," Schiff had returned, a pillow and a light blanket in his arms.

"You're kidding," McCoy sat there at his desk. "You're really going to tuck me in for the night?"

"Shut up, Jack, and lie down," Schiff sighed.

* * *

Jack McCoy obeyed without argument, and that alone spoke volumes about how bad the migraine was turning out to be…

Schiff sighed again as he slipped the pillow under his friend's head, and draped the blanket over him, as gently as possible.

McCoy curled up on his side, and closed his eyes.

"My thanks, Adam…" he murmured.

Schiff patted his shoulder, looked around, seeking a trash can.

_Ah…there…_

He brought it over, placed it by McCoy's head, knowing he would need it.

"Try to sleep if you can, Jack."

Schiff turned all the lights in the office off and left, closing the office door quietly behind him.

Then, as he stood in the hall, blindingly brilliant light flared, inside Jack McCoy's office, out in the hall too, and the world just _came…to…a…halt._

"Adam?"

Schiff felt a hand on his shoulder, Claire Kincaid's voice. She was kneeling in front of him…

_Kneeling?_

Schiff frowned at that.

_I'm on the floor…_

He was sort of sitting against a nearby wall. With Claire's help, he hauled himself back up, alarm tingling along his nerves.

_That light started in Jack's office…_

"Jack…" he knocked lightly on the office door. "You okay in there?"

No response…

Schiff opened the door, looked inside. The couch was empty, pillow and blanket on the floor.

"Jack?"

Jack McCoy was gone, seemingly without a trace.

Schiff felt a chill when he looked at his watch.

_Nine minutes…I've lost nine minutes…_

* * *

_4/16/96_

_Quantico_

Fox Mulder finished reading the reports on the… _Incident._

"They didn't find anything in EADA McCoy's office?" he asked.

"Nothing," Munch sat forward. "No fingerprints, no genetic material, no… _nothing._ "

The detective sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nobody knows…anything," he told Mulder. "Personally, _I_ think Jack McCoy may be one of your Abductees. I researched him, and he has a…history of disappearances at odd intervals, starting in the early Seventies. He looks like a classic victim of multiple abductions."

Mulder nodded at that.

"It's time the FBI got involved in investigating EADA McCoy's disappearance."

Munch felt relief course through his body.

"When do you think you'll arrive?" he asked.

"We should be in Manhattan by tomorrow, late morning or early afternoon," Agent Scully assured him.

* * *

Claire Kincaid tossed her apartment keys onto her kitchen table, and looked at her watch.

11:45 PM

The irony of Jack McCoy's absence on _this_ date-4/16/96-wasn't lost on her.

The execution had been today, early in the morning.

If Jack had been here, he would have gone, to bear witness to Justice being enacted; and…being… _Jack_ …he probably would have pressured Claire to go too.

She sighed.

Jack McCoy hadn't been there to go to the execution. So Claire hadn't gone either. Instead, she had spent the day with Anita Van Buren, the Lieutenant's good, solid common sense attitude to the vicissitudes of life a profound blessing for Claire Kincaid.

She couldn't seem to find any kind of peace in Jack McCoy's office. With him not there, the place felt… _empty_.

They were pressing Adam Schiff to appoint a new EADA, and Claire knew she was probably the best candidate right now. But Adam was resisting, and Claire understood why.

_Choosing a new EADA would mean having to accept that Jack McCoy is dead…_

She couldn't bring herself to do that, and neither could Adam.

She flopped onto her sofa, tears blurring her vision.

_Where are you, Jack? Are you still alive?_

Three whole months…

Lennie Briscoe, a veteran cop, had tried to be as tactful as he could.

"A guy goes missing the way the Counselor did, goes missing for three months, there's generally only one way _that_ ends."

"Don't say that!" Claire had actually yelled at him. "Until we find a body, a real, tangible body, he's alive. Got it, Detective Briscoe? _Alive!_ "

Her phone rang, and she picked it up.

_Might be news about Jack…_

"Hello?"

"Miss Kincaid?" she didn't know the voice; couldn't even tell if it was male or female…

"Who is it?" Claire demanded.

"A friend," the voice said. "A present has been left for you on the Courthouse steps. You may want to go and pick it up."

The caller hung up, and Claire sat there, fear crawling up her spine. Shaking, she dialed a number.

"27th Precinct."

It was late, but maybe he was still in.

"Is Lennie Briscoe there? It's Claire Kincaid."

"Counselor?" Two minutes later, Lennie Briscoe's voice came over the line.

"I need your help, Lennie," Claire sighed.

Ten minutes later, Claire Kincaid was sharing a car with Detectives Briscoe and Logan, driving down to the Courthouse. Lennie parked the car. Claire got out.

"Careful, Counselor," Briscoe warned. "This doesn't exactly whiff as kosher…"

"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Logan grumbled.

Claire ignored him, glaring at the Courthouse, her breath misting in the chill air. It was very dark now, the streetlights not doing much to illuminate the area.

Then, she saw it.

It looked like a bundle of rags lying on the courthouse steps.

"Counselor!" she ignored Briscoe's warning, ran up to the bundle of rags. It was about the size of a man…

Shaped like a man too, clad in thin tee and trousers, curled up on its side, dark hair shaggy, with three months growth of beard.

Jack McCoy…

Claire knelt by him, laid her head to his chest.

"Mike!" she heard Lennie. "Call for a bus!"

Jack was scarcely breathing. Claire shrugged out of her heavy overcoat, wrapped McCoy up in it, and held him tightly. He lay limp in her arms, body a dead weight.

* * *

_4/17/96_

_4 AM_

Adam Schiff jerked awake to the sound of a ringing phone. He had been sleeping on his late wife's side of the bed, his way of dealing with her passing…

Irritated, he picked up the phone.

"Who the hell is calling at this time of the night?" he growled.

Claire Kincaid, voice broken, babbling, and the only thing Schiff understood was that Jack McCoy had been found.

_Jack McCoy…_

_Found…_

"I'm coming…"

Adam Schiff trudged wearily into Bellevue, gave his name to the Receptionist. She guided him to the ICU.

He wasn't prepared for the sight…

Jack McCoy, lying there, utterly still, hawk features hidden by tubes and tape…

There was the sighing sound of a mechanical ventilator, and the beeping of a heart monitor, and it was his wife all over again…

Schiff felt a chair being placed behind him, collapsed onto it.

_Oh…Jack…_

They had even taped McCoy's eyes closed…

He laid trembling fingers on Jack McCoy's forehead, the sound of the ventilator dominating everything.

_Please…_

_Don't do this to me again…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam makes a decision for Jack...

_4/17/96_

_Bellevue, 11:30 AM_

Agents Mulder and Scully arrived at JFK Airport, to be informed of Jack McCoy's return. Mulder remembered Jack McCoy from the _Koster Incident_ of just a few years back.

Albert Koster was dead now, found in his cell, cause of death unknown; and Mulder had feared that McCoy's disappearance might mean an equally grim fate for him.

At Bellevue, seeing Jack McCoy like…this…eyelids taped shut, ventilator tube down his throat…that had brought back memories of Dana Scully after _her_ abduction.

Various members of the Manhattan Judiciary, and others from the 27th Precinct, were there, keeping watch over the stricken man; a show of solidarity, support, and love for the comatose EADA.

"How is he?" Mulder had asked the dark-skinned woman who was currently keeping watch over Jack McCoy.

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren sighed sadly.

"The doctors say he's nonresponsive," she laid a gentle hand on McCoy's forehead, fingers smoothing unruly hair back. "I don't understand all the medicalese, but the gist is that they're going to take him off the ventilator. Mr. McCoy had a Living Will in case something like this ever happened."

Mulder nodded, glancing briefly at Scully. She had had one too. A doctor, her conditions for removal of life support had been rather more…stringent…than the average.

The beeping of the heart monitor, and the sound of the mechanical ventilator filled the small private room.

"When are they going to turn off the ventilator?" Scully asked.

"When Adam Schiff authorizes it," Van Buren continued to stroke McCoy's hair. "He should be signing the papers this afternoon, and I plan to be here, to say goodbye…"

* * *

_3 PM_

Adam Schiff sighed as he looked down at Jack McCoy.

It wasn't fair…

Schiff's wife had suffered a massive stroke the year before. She faced life in a coma, in a permanent vegetative state. Schiff had freed her from that, had signed the papers to take her off life support, so she could go on to her Maker. Jack McCoy had done his best to support Adam through all of that.

Now, _Jack_ was the one lying there, on life support, now the machines were keeping _him_ alive, and Adam knew what Jack would have wanted.

"After we turn off the Ventilator," Dr. Marks had told him. "We'll put him on oxygen, an oxygen mask, and see how he does. If he stops breathing, we'll put him back on the ventilator until we can harvest his organs…"

Schiff nodded wearily. McCoy had left wishes to be an organ donor upon his death…

Adam Schiff looked down at his friend.

_Open your eyes, Jack. Say something…anything…_

_Don't die._

_Please, don't die…_

It was time.

_Time to say goodbye…_

Schiff laid a hand atop McCoy's hand, bent and kissed the man on the brow.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Claire Kincaid.

She hadn't wanted to do it, hadn't wanted to take him off life support. Now, here they both were, Anita Van Buren there too, as she had promised, watching Dr. Marks as he turned the ventilator off, pulled out the breathing tube, and replaced it with a simple oxygen mask.

Now, it was up to Jack McCoy, whether he lived or died…

* * *

Claire Kincaid was sitting by Jack McCoy's side, keeping watch over him. He'd been taken off the ventilator two days ago.

Much to everyone's surprise, and… _hope_ …he was still breathing…still alive.

Still nonresponsive, cannulas in his nose. Claire talked to him; telling him all of the gossip, and news in the DA's Office, knowing that someone-either from the DA's Office, or from the 27th-would arrive to keep vigil over him when she had to leave.

There had been no discussion about it. A schedule had been arranged, between the attorneys at the DA's Office, and the 27th.

Claire had no idea what the others talked to Jack about; just that they _did_ talk to him, as she did, hoping their voices would forge a path for Jack, a path he could take back into life…

The door to the private room opened, and Dana Scully entered, with two cups of tea.

"I figured you could use a tea right now," she looked at Jack McCoy. "Any change?"

"No…" Claire wanted to howl in despair. "He just…lies there."

"Give him time, Claire," Scully said. "Whatever they did to him, it was traumatic. He just needs some time…"

_What they did to him…_

Agent Fox Mulder had ordered a complete physical examination to be carried out on the comatose patient. The bloodwork, once done, had been promptly lost, much to Mulder's complete lack of surprise, and even Claire had to suspect that a monstrous cover-up was in the works.

But _they_ , whoever they were, couldn't hide everything.

The bruises at wrists and ankles, for example. Someone had had Jack McCoy strapped down.

And there were the tiny, virtually invisible scars on his forehead.

Someone had drilled into Jack McCoy's skull…into his _brain_ …

_They tortured him…_

All Claire could do was smooth his unruly hair back from his forehead, and talk to him, hope that her voice would bring him back.

"You love him," Scully's comment, so matter-of-fact, caught her off guard.

She and Jack had tried to be discreet about it. Interoffice affairs could be… _difficult_.

Especially after the incident with Diana Hawthorne. Hawthorne had been McCoy's assistant once; and her… _mistake_...had gotten him disbarred.

That disbarment had been a temporary thing, and his innocence quickly proven. But, in that brief, _in between time_ , Claire Kincaid had seen what Jack McCoy had never allowed anyone else to see; a vulnerable… _frightened_ man.

"What's he like?" Scully asked.

"Jack?" Claire paused, then just let the words come out. "He's... _brilliant_ …an incredible jurist, passionate, and... complicated. He would give you the shirt off his back, but heaven help you if you get in his way. And, sometimes, when the wind's north-north-west, he can be a complete and utter ass…"

"A lot like Mulder…" Scully sighed.

"Except for the believing in Little Green Men," Claire pointed out.

"Except for that," Scully agreed.

Claire bent over Jack, looking at his face, holding his hand.

His fingers twitched...

* * *

Dana Scully heard Claire Kincaid's tiny gasp.

"Claire?"

"His fingers!" Claire was shaking. "I felt them twitch."

Scully bent over Jack McCoy too. A brief tremor passed through his body; eyelids flickering, the dark lashes trembling…

"Claire, get a doctor. Now!"

She heard Claire run from the room, turned back to McCoy, in time to see his eyes flutter open, pupils dilated.

He made an indistinct noise, confusion and alarm in voice and body.

"You're at Bellevue Hospital," she gently held his head in both hands, focusing his attention on her, hoping he understood what she was saying.

His eyes on her face, blinking owlishly, even in the dim light.

"Musta been one hell of a migraine…" his voice, slightly slurred, was scratchy from long disuse.

_Migraine?_

The door opened, light from the hall flooding the small room as Claire Kincaid entered, followed by Adam Schiff and Dr. Marks.

McCoy hissed, and curled up, trying to shield his eyes from the light.

"Close the door," Scully ordered. "Keep the light down."

She bent over the patient.

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

Arm thrown over his eyes, McCoy peered up at her.

"You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"Fair enough," Scully nodded. "I'm FBI Agent Scully."

"Think I remember you," McCoy grumbled. "You were with whatshisface Mulder?"

"Yes," Scully felt a faint grin twitch at the corners of her lips. "Now, tell me your name."

"John James McCoy," he said. "But everyone calls me Jack. That good enough?"

"Yes. Now, what was your last memory?"

"Of all the ridiculous…" McCoy snorted, hand still shielding his eyes. "It was in February, and I was dealing with the Migraine from hell…"

"You get migraines?" Scully was startled.

"Been a card-carrying member since the Seventies," McCoy's eyes were adjusting now. "I'm in a hospital?"

He tried to sit up, an alarmed look in his eyes when he realized how weak he was.

"That can wait a bit," Scully eased him back down, spread the blankets around him.

"Your friend are here," she added. "They've all been worried over you."

* * *

_Two weeks later_

_Finally…_

Jack McCoy sighed in relief as he ditched that too-well ventilated hospital gown for Jeans and a shirt.

He felt profoundly dislocated.

_Three months of my life…gone._

Agent Fox Mulder had suggested he undergo regressive hypnosis, to try to recover his memories of that time; but McCoy sensed that Mulder had an agenda. So McCoy had offered a suggestion of his own.

An anatomically impossible one.

The look on Agent Mulder's face had been priceless…

Jack McCoy had no intention of being a mystery for Mulder to unravel.

He was a prosecutor, a damn good one, and he wanted to get back to being Adam Schiff's Executive Assistant DA.

_Three months missing, and Adam refused to replace me…_

"Ready to leave this place?"

Speaking of Adam…

There he was, ready to take McCoy to his brownstone. Jack's landlord had been nowhere near as loyal as Adam had been. His belongings had been packed and stored. A new tenant had Jack's apartment now.

"We'll find a nice place for you," Adam had assured him. "In the meantime, you can stay with me until you get your feet back under you."

Jack McCoy allowed Adam to guide him out of the hospital.

_How did I end up with friends like this?_


	5. Chapter 5

_December 1973_

_Location unknown_

_Jack McCoy felt like crap. The place was a strange cross between prison and hospital._

_He remembered his bike skidding out from under him in that blinding light._

_Now, Jack McCoy was here, in this…prison. He had tried to escape twice, each attempt ending in abject failure._

_The punishments had been…excruciating._

_Now, here he was, aching in every part of his body, and he was beginning to realize he was going to die here._

_This place was arranged rather like a state mental institution, men and women sleeping in dormitory rooms, with a common room used by all._

_When they were feeling up to it, that is…_

_Jack McCoy hadn't been feeling up to anything more than huddling under thin sheets for several days, and it wasn't just the punishments…_

_There had been tests too…experiments; most of the memories gone, washed away by agony the likes of which he had never experienced before._

_Now… **they** had turned their attention to other prisoners, leaving Jack McCoy alone these last few days; and Jack finally felt just barely well enough to wander into the Common Room._

_The other prisoners well enough to wander around in the Common Room put McCoy in mind of the photographs of Auschwitz Survivors he had seen, staring at nothing with shell-shocked eyes._

_**Do I look like that?** _

_A woman sitting on a couch, weeping quietly._

_"Are you all right?"_

_**Dumb question, Jack…** _

_Here, in this place, no one was all right…_

_The woman looked up at him, eyes welling. She pulled herself together by effort of will._

_"I'm Cassandra," she patted the couch, the empty space next to her. "Have a seat. I don't bite."_

_McCoy sat gingerly, body aching literally everywhere._

_"Jack McCoy," he spoke hesitantly._

_"The motorcycle lawyer," Cassandra laid a gentle hand on his shoulder._

_"George has a lot to answer for," she muttered._

_**George?** _

_What did George Atkinson have to do with any of this?_

_"He sent you here, didn't he?"_

_"No…" McCoy shivered._

_**George wouldn't do something like that…** _

_He felt her hand move from his shoulder to cup his jaw._

_"Did they hurt you?" she asked._

_" **They?** " he repeated the word, chills icing his veins..._

Jack McCoy jerked awake. Briefly, he didn't know where-or when-he was…

Then, he remembered.

_September of 96, in the bedroom of my new apartment._

As he sat up, the dream, originally so clear in every detail, fled away, leaving him with nothing.

 _Damn_ …he rubbed his face and rolled out of bed. No chance of getting back to sleep after a nightmare like that.

* * *

_1 Hogan Place_

Jack McCoy felt better now. Hot shower, breakfast, and hot, fresh coffee; he actually felt rather good now, ready to face the world.

He found Dr. Emil Skoda waiting in his office.

"Dr. Skoda," McCoy set his coffee on the table, slid out of his shabby jacket, and set the helmet in a corner. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

"Just wanted to see you," Skoda spoke mildly. "You've been through a lot this last year…"

"I'm fine. No problem at all."

"That's not what I was told, Jack."

McCoy sighed.

"Who tattled?" but he thought he knew…

"It was Claire Kincaid," Skoda admitted. "As I'm sure you already knew. She says you've been having some pretty intense nightmares. Real screamers, she said."

McCoy flushed at that.

"She wants you to unscrew my marbles?"

"It wouldn't hurt," compassion in Skoda's eyes and voice. "Those nightmares say you need help. For what it's worth, Adam's worried too."

McCoy continued to stare out the window, glad Skoda couldn't see his face.

"He spoke to you? About me?"

"They're worried about you," Skoda stood. "So…how about it, Jack?"

Looking out the window…avoiding Skoda's too-knowing eyes…

"I'll get back to you on that…" McCoy ignored Skoda's frustrated sigh.

* * *

_Three days later…_

Jack McCoy was in one of the council rooms in Hogan Place, along with Claire Kincaid; helping a young kidnapping victim prepare her case.

Lexa Carpenter, only sixteen, had been taken by a sexual predator. Fortunately, the police had tracked them down before anything was done. But the man had strapped her down to his bed, arms at her sides, straps at wrists and ankles.

"I couldn't move…" Lexa lifted terrified eyes. "He had me tied down by my wrists and ankles, and I just couldn't…are you all right, Mr. McCoy?"

_Arms and legs…strapped down…trapped, like a fly in a spider's web…_

McCoy shuddered, images from his nightmares flitting through his brain. He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists under the table.

"I'm fine…" he forced a tight smile. "Please continue."

"Yeah…" Lexa eyed McCoy cautiously. "He didn't even touch me. Just stood there, staring at me. I tried to twist my hands free. But the straps were just too tight…"

Lexa's voice faded away…

_Restraints too tight…Huge black eyes staring down…_

* * *

Claire Kincaid saw Jack McCoy go…ashen.

All the color faded from his face, leaving him gray to the lips.

Abruptly, the EADA stood, shaking, breath gone ragged.

"Jack?" Claire got to her feet too, alarm sliding along her nerves. McCoy didn't seem to hear her, eyes fixed on something only he could see.

Without a word, he turned and fled the room.

"Miss Kincaid?" Lexa looked up at Claire. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing to do with you," Claire reassured the girl. "Stay right here, I'll be back."

Claire stepped out into the hall, saw one of the Junior Attorneys, Mike Cutter.

"Where did he go?"

"Men's' Room," Cutter said. "Something's wrong…"

Ignoring him…ignoring propriety, Claire walked into the Men's Room.

She found Jack McCoy, tucked under the row of sinks, curled up into a fetal position, shaking like a leaf…

"Jack!"

She dropped to her knees, laid gentle hands on his shoulder. His body jerked under her hands as he scuttled away, blind, unreasoning terror in his eyes.

"Jack…it's me…it's…Claire…"

He tried to back away, into the nearest corner. Claire followed, reaching out to hold him by both shoulders.

"Stay away!" he shoved her back, voice a terrified shriek. "Don't touch me!"

Backed into the corner…

Claire heard the door open.

"What's wrong?" Mike Cutter again.

"Call an ambulance!" Claire ordered, keeping her eyes on Jack McCoy.

Curled up…arms shielding his face, shaking in mortal terror, tears running down his cheeks…

* * *

_Bellevue Psychiatric Unit_

Dr. Emil Skoda sat in the Visitor's Room, waiting patiently. The door opened, and Jack McCoy entered. He stood there a moment; left arm across his chest, fingers resting on his right shoulder.

"Sit, Jack," Skoda said. "Please."

McCoy took the other chair, directly across from Skoda. The attorney looked like hell, haunted eyes, pale, unshaven, hair an unruly mess.

Skoda had read the Hospital Admissions Form.

_Patient incoherent, in an apparent psychotic state…_

They'd been forced to put McCoy in restraints and sedate him.

Now, here Jack McCoy was, looking utterly lost…

"Have you rethought your stance on seeing a psychiatrist?" Skoda asked.

McCoy bowed his head.

"I don't know what to say," he muttered.

"As long as you don't say, _I'm fine_ …"

McCoy chuckled at that. There was no amusement in that bitter laughter. Hugging himself, left hand resting on right shoulder…

"I don't understand…" he closed his eyes.

"You're hurting, Jack," Skoda leaned forward. "Let me help you."

Rocking slightly, McCoy looked up, and Skoda saw the fear in him.

_He's never been terrified like this before, doesn't know how to handle it…_

"I can help you, Jack."

"How?"

"Regressive hypnosis," Skoda said, and he saw Jack McCoy flinch.

"Regressive hypnosis…" there was real fear in McCoy's eyes now.

"Something… _bad_ …happened to you, Jack," Skoda insisted. "It needs to be brought out so you can deal with it; so you can _heal_."

"I…" McCoy shook his head, clasped his hands together, the grip white-knuckled, hands and fingers trembling. His breathing was ragged too, the trembling taking hold of his entire body.

There was a battle going on inside Jack McCoy right now; and all Skoda could do was keep silent, and pray that the right side won…

Head down, a deep sigh trembled its way out of McCoy's body.

"Skoda…" he didn't look up. "When can you schedule…this?"

"When do you want it?"

"As soon as possible…" barely audible.

"Tomorrow afternoon?"

McCoy jerked at that, fear in his eyes, and Skoda knew he was going to change his mind.

"Jack…" he spoke gently. "You can't go on like this, and you know it. Your breakdown…if it tells you nothing else, it's telling you _that_."

McCoy stared down at his hands, features gray with fatigue.

Another deep sigh…

"All right," he nodded shakily. "Tomorrow it is…"

"I'll prepare things then," Skoda stood. "I'll also arrange for a friend to be present for you. Adam Schiff?"

That brought a brief smile.

"Yeah…" Jack McCoy closed his eyes. "Adam Schiff…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Skoda regresses Jack McCoy...

Early in the morning, sun barely peering over the horizon, Dr. Emil Skoda preparing for the rigors of the day; going over his notes on Jack McCoy. It was going to be a busy day.

An unpleasant one for Jack McCoy…

There came a knock on his office door.

_Who's here at this time of the morning?_

"Come in," Skoda closed his notebook. He was surprised to see Detective John Munch enter the office, folder in his hands.

"What brings you here?" he asked the Detective.

"Blame the rumor mill," Munch shifted the folder from hand to hand. "Word got out about your…afternoon appointment."

Skoda went cold.

"There are privacy issues here," he warned Munch.

"And you have no idea what you're getting into," Munch shot back. "Your patient has been abducted. Multiple times, in fact."

"Munch…" torn between kicking Munch out on his ass, and inviting him in. "You _know_ I can't talk about this."

Munch held out the folder.

"If you're going to regress Jack McCoy, you need to read this first."

"What is it?" Skoda accepted the folder.

"Just read it," Munch sat. "This is important. I can wait."

Skoda looked through the folder's files.

"Who compiled this?"

"I did, Dr. Skoda, over the last year, or so. I did some deep research on EADA McCoy's entire life, starting from his birth in Chicago in Nineteen forty, all the way up to now. School records, medical records, everything I could find on the man…"

Skoda was stunned.

_"Why?"_

And John Munch sighed, sadness in the sound.

"The abductions begin on November the Twenty-third of Nineteen Seventy-three, and seem to continue, on and off, right up to the last time he was abducted, earlier this year. The date, November the twenty-third, of Seventy-three… _that's_ the date you'll want to ask McCoy about when you regress him."

Skoda read the file.

 _"MUFON?"_ he looked over at Munch. "Little Green men, Munch?"

"Not necessarily," Munch said. "There have been clear indications of quasi-governmental agencies, black ops and such, with histories of taking civilians right off the streets, and doing…tests…experiments…on them."

"I refuse to believe that, Detective," Skoda moved to hand the folder back. Munch stopped him.

"That last abduction was real," he said. "X-rays showed that… _someone_ …drilled holes into Jack McCoy's skull. Your beliefs-and mine too-don't matter. Someone drilled holes into Jack McCoy's skull, into his brain. Whether aliens did it, or just plain old-fashioned human villains, is irrelevant. Someone did this to him, and he almost died. _That's_ what's relevant."

Skoda sighed.

That was true, Jack McCoy had almost died. That last abduction was real, those tiny, almost invisible scars on McCoy's forehead were real, and his breakdown…

All of that was real.

"Shit…" Skoda muttered.

He made a decision.

"John," he turned to Munch. "Had breakfast yet?"

"No," Munch cocked his head. "Why?"

"I need food," Skoda reached for his wallet, drew out some cash. "Order for me too, then come back and help me make sense of this…"

Whatever it took, Emil Skoda was going to find a way to save Jack McCoy…

* * *

_Bellevue Psychiatric Unit_

Adam Schiff was waiting patiently in the Observation Room, just outside the Treatment Room. The setup was almost exactly the same as the 27th's Interrogation Chamber, the large one-way Mirror enabling those in the Observation Room to see, and hear, what was going on in the Treatment Room.

The differences lay in the furnishings…

There was a fully equipped hospital bed, complete with IV stand, heart monitor, oxygen tank…and crash cart.

Adam shivered when he saw that.

The Waiting Room door opened, and four men entered; Dr. Emil Skoda, a MHTA, John Munch, and Jack McCoy…

Another time, Schiff may have questioned Munch's right to be there. But right now, he only had eyes for Jack McCoy…

Hugging himself, shoulders tense, as if expecting a terrible blow, his eyes frightened…

Schiff wanted to take Jack into his arms and hold him tightly.

"Jack…" he murmured.

McCoy's head turned at the sound of Schiff's voice, and a haunted smile graced his features.

"Adam…"

"How are you, my boy?"

One of Jack McCoy's trademark mirthless chuckles…

"I've been better…"

"It's time, Jack," Skoda said, and Adam saw Jack flinch, swallowing convulsively.

_He's losing his courage…_

Adam walked up, drew Jack into his arms.

"I'm here, Jack. Get this done. Get some peace."

McCoy nodded shakily.

"Yeah…" he spoke hoarsely. "I'm ready."

He followed Skoda and the MHTA into the Treatment Room; and the door closed behind them. Now, Schiff turned to John Munch.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

"I'm helping Skoda," Munch sighed. "I have… _special knowledge_ on Jack McCoy's situation."

"Knowledge?"

"I've been investigating McCoy's abduction," Munch admitted. "The people who did this need to be brought to justice, wouldn't you agree?"

Appalled, Adam Schiff turned his attention back to what was going on in the Treatment Room, watching Emil Skoda prepare Jack McCoy.

_Regressive hypnosis…_

_No wonder Jack's frightened…_

Jack McCoy lying down on that hospital bed, drugs, via IV, slowly entering his blood. McCoy was staring up at the ceiling, eyes frightened.

"I _hate_ this…" he muttered.

Eventually, the drugs started to have an effect, McCoy's body relaxing as his eyes slid shut…

Skoda sat there, by Jack McCoy's side.

"How are you feeling, Jack?"

"Hmm…" McCoy's voice was slightly slurred. "Yeah…I feel…kinda nice…"

"Good…" Skoda spoke soothingly. "It's time to start…"

Adam Schiff watched as Emil Skoda put Jack McCoy under…

"You're in a warm, comfortable place," the psychiatrist told McCoy. "This is your _safe place_ , and nothing can hurt you here. You like it, Jack?"

"Yeah…s'nice…" McCoy sighed deeply. "Really nice…"

"Good," Skoda bent over the seemingly sleeping man. At first, he started with _safe_ dates, ones that were happy memories for Jack McCoy; and Schiff understood why.

_Establishing a baseline…_

Schiff had to smile at some of those memories. From the first, Jack McCoy had been dedicated, fearless, and principled.

The young Jack McCoy had also been a bit of a rascal…

Skoda was smiling too.

"All right, Jack," he said. "It's November twenty-third, Nineteen Seventy-three. What are you doing?"

"Here it comes…" Schiff had forgotten about Detective John Munch.

"Detective?"

"Just…watch…Counselor," Munch glanced at him. "Bear witness."

_Bear witness?_

Fear crawled up Schiff's spine; and Jack McCoy…

Jack McCoy laughed softly, delight in his voice.

"George…"

"George?" Skoda repeated the name.

"My boss, George Atkinson," McCoy was smiling sleepily. "I just got promoted! I'm going to be Second Chair to Adam Schiff! George gave me a week at his vacation cabin. He called it a _Promotion Present_. I'm really looking forward to working with Adam Schiff."

Schiff closed his eyes.

_He sounds so…young…_

"Where is George Atkinson's cabin?"

McCoy's hand fluttered vaguely.

"It's near that abandoned airbase…El Rico…"

"El Rico…" Munch sighed, real sadness in his voice, and Schiff caught his arm.

"El Rico?"

"Just… _watch_ …" Munch kept his eyes on the developing scene. Frustrated, Schiff did the same.

"What are you doing now, Jack?"

"On my bike," McCoy sighed rapturously. "Miles of unused road here, and it's all _mine_."

"Okay," Skoda looked down, at the folder in his hands. "Same day, nine o'clock in the evening. What-"

Jack McCoy gasped, body stiffening.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

"Too bright!" panic in McCoy's voice. "I can't see!"

Breathing suddenly gone ragged, McCoy's head turned from side to side, like a caged animal seeking escape.

"Where am I? Who are these people? Oh…god…this isn't happening!"

Real terror in Jack McCoy's voice now.

"Jack-"

"It can't be happening! It _can't!_ Oh god…they…they're… _real!_ "

His body jolted, as if electrocuted, and he suddenly screamed in pure terror.

"Stay away!" he leaped off the hospital bed, tearing out the IV needle in the process.

"Don't touch me!"

In blind terror, McCoy hurled the hospital bed right at the Observation Window, and Adam Schiff stood there, paralyzed by horror. Abruptly, something shoved him to the right, Detective John Munch's body pressing him to the wall as the Observation Window shattered into a million pieces.

The bed sailed right through, bouncing off the wall, and Jack McCoy flew through the window too…

Detective John Munch spun around to tackle him from behind, arms wrapping around his chest, pinning his arms down.

Jack McCoy fought like a wild animal…

"Hold him!" Skoda was coming through the broken window now, nose bloodied.

Somehow, Munch managed to hold on to McCoy. Skoda grabbed McCoy's head in both hands, bent close, their heads almost touching.

"Jack, when I count to three, you'll be back in your _safe place_. One…two…three!"

Jack McCoy collapsed on _three_ ; legs skidding out from under him. Munch eased him down, arms still tight across his chest.

Schiff stared at the sight.

_Jack…What did they do to you?_

Jack McCoy's body sagged in Munch's arms, head bowed, breath coming in sobbing gasps. Ignoring his own bloody nose, Skoda lifted McCoy's head, thumbed the eyelids open. After that, fingers to the base of McCoy's throat, counting out the beats of his heart.

"Wake up, Jack," he sighed.

McCoy's eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed.

"What…Where…"

He seemed to notice Munch's arms now, still wrapped around him.

"You good now, Counselor?" Munch asked.

McCoy nodded, still looking dazed, still breathing hard. Schiff knelt by him.

"What happened?" McCoy asked him, and all Schiff could do was sigh...

_Dear Lord, they kidnapped him…_

_They tortured him…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack McCoy seeks help; with devastating consequences...

Two weeks after the _session from hell_ …

Jack McCoy had no clear memory of what had happened there; only that he had broken Emil Skoda's nose, and come very close to killing Adam Schiff…

He didn't remember throwing the hospital bed.

_Thank God for Detective John Munch…_

McCoy had been discharged from Bellevue, was back in his own apartment, with two filled prescriptions; one for the PTSD, the other for the persistent nightmares. Skoda hadn't cleared him to go back to work yet, so there was little for him to do.

He couldn't even visit his favorite watering-holes anymore; not with the medications he was now forced to take.

Sure…he _could've_ stopped taking his medication. But McCoy didn't want to experience another psychotic break. The first time he had woken up in restraints was enough for him.

Besides, those nightmares scared the living shit out of him.

So, what was there left for an unemployed lawyer to do?

McCoy had taken to tramping all over Manhattan, visiting cultural sites, museums, and libraries.

The flyer in the small museum caught his attention.

_**They are here. They wish to help us…heal us…** _

There was a photo of a woman on the flyer. She had gentle eyes, and McCoy was caught by the image.

He had seen her before…somewhere…

Her name was on the flyer.

Cassandra Spender…

_I've met her…talked to her…_

He couldn't remember where.

She was going to be here, this afternoon, holding a seminar on…

_Alien Visitors…_

Part of Jack McCoy wanted to flee, as quickly as possible.

But Cassandra was going to be there, and…he knew her.

_If only I could remember **where** …_

So, Jack McCoy stayed, waiting for Cassandra Spender to arrive.

When she arrived, in a wheelchair, surrounded by a cadre of aides, a bodyguard pushing her chair, Jack McCoy, seeing her, was struck anew by the realization that he knew her. But there were too many people with her. He knew he wouldn't even be allowed to approach her.

That was when Cassandra turned her head, and their eyes met.

"Jack!" the wheelchair stopped at her gesture, her beautiful smile lighting her eyes; and Jack felt the shock of it clear down to his toes.

_She knows me too…_

A snippet of memory filled his mind.

_Her hand cups his jaw as she looks into his eyes._

_"Did they hurt you?" she asks…_

Jack McCoy was shaking, couldn't stop it.

"Jack…" Cassandra held out her hands to him. He walked up, knelt before her, and felt her arms go around him, holding him tight.

A feeling akin to grief welled up within him. He laid his head on her shoulder, tears burning the back of his throat.

"He's a dear friend of mine," she spoke over his head, hand caressing his back. "Can he come with us?"

The bodyguard, balding, with a mustache, looked McCoy over. He nodded slowly, and Cassandra smiled.

McCoy, still kneeling, felt her cup his face in her hands, as she tenderly kissed the tears away.

"Come with us, Jack."

"Where are we going?"

"First, there's the seminar," she told him. "Then, we are going to meet… _them_. They are going to come down to join with us."

_"Them?"_

Chills ran down McCoy's spine.

"Don't be afraid, Jack," Cassandra's hand squeezed his. "They can help you."

"Help me..?" McCoy shivered.

_If only someone could…_

"You're Jack McCoy, right?" the bodyguard took out his cell phone, calling…the ones really in charge. He turned back a few minutes later, smiling.

"Welcome to the gang, Mr. McCoy. "You're welcome to stay with us as long as you wish."

_Is this the help I need?_

"Where will you be going?" he asked.

 _"We…"_ Cassandra squeezed his hand again. "You'll be with us too…won't you?"

"Me..?" McCoy stood there; and sometimes, living… _choosing_ …required a simple act of faith.

McCoy sighed, pain, grief, and... _relief_ …swept through him.

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded shakily. "I'll go with you."

Cassandra smiled. It warmed him to see that smile.

"We'll go to meet them," she said. "On Skyland Mountain."

* * *

Agent Dana Scully was waiting for Cassandra Spender to arrive. She had been feeling…odd…these last few weeks, memories of Duane Barry, and Skyland Mountain, dominating her thoughts.

Cassandra had proven to be a friend, albeit one who believed in Alien Visitors, perhaps even more strongly than Fox Mulder.

But, here she was, in her wheelchair, accompanied by her usual cadre, with one extra…

A man Scully recognized.

Tall, lean-almost thin, in fact-with a shock of dark hair touched by gray, and that distinctive hawk profile…

"Jack McCoy…" Scully walked up to him, worried over the sight. He had lost weight, pounds he really couldn't afford to lose, and there was this… _distracted_ …air to him.

"Agent Scully…" the man smiled. "What brings you here?"

"Answers," Scully felt like she was channeling Fox Mulder. "I want the truth."

"Me too," McCoy sighed. "But I don't even know which questions to ask."

"I know the feeling," Scully laid a hand on the attorney's shoulder.

"I feel like I'm…cutting class," she almost laughed. "Mulder's going to be _pissed_. As if he's never done that to me before…"

"Mulder's…cut class…before?"

"All the fucking time," Scully nodded. "So he's got no grounds for complaint."

_Especially after all the times I had to pull his chestnuts out of the fire…_

"How about you?" she asked the lawyer. "Ever cut class before?"

"No," McCoy slowly shook his head. "I loved my job too much. But these last few months…"

Head bowed, as if on the edge of making a painful admission…

"I had a breakdown, almost a month ago," he lifted his head. "They won't let me go back to work yet, and I…I don't really know what to do now."

* * *

_1 Hogan Place_

_Why does Adam Schiff want to see me?_

Detective Mike Logan knocked on Schiff's office door.

"Come in."

"What's up, Counselor?" Logan entered the office.

"Jack McCoy's gone missing again," fear in Adam Schiff's eyes. "He was last seen in the company of ufologist Cassandra Spender."

Mike Logan had heard all of the rumors concerning Jack McCoy; the breakdown, the disastrous regression session, and didn't know what to think of it all. The very idea of McCoy having a breakdown in the first place…

Logan would never have believed that at all, if he had not seen Dr. Skoda's broken nose…

"Any idea where McCoy may have gone?" he asked Schiff. "This doesn't really sound like an abduction. Maybe he…just took off to get away for a bit?"

"He left his medication at home," Schiff snapped.

"Besides," another voice spoke up. "Jack McCoy and Cassandra Spender were both seen later in the afternoon, with Dana Scully, and now, all three are missing."

Mike Logan turned to see Agent Fox Mulder.

_Great…Spooky Mulder himself…_

Adam Schiff looked at the two men.

"Since all three individuals are missing," he said. "It behooves us to work together for the duration, until _all_ of our missing people are found. Is that clear, Detective Logan?"

"Yeah…" Logan sighed. "Like crystal."

* * *

_Skyland Mountain_

The SUV had stopped at the appointed destination. Hundreds of people were already there, waiting. Jack McCoy got out of the SUV, followed by Dana Scully. Cassandra Spender was next, wheelchair lowered from the back of the SUV. She smiled as she waved to McCoy. He waved back; fear nagging at him.

_What if she's right? What if Aliens are real? What could they possibly want from us?_

He sighed, looked at the wreckage his life had become.

_Could they help me?_

"Jack," Cassandra waved him over. "Come, walk with me."

He jogged over, felt her take his hand.

"I know you're scared, Jack," she spoke reassuringly. "When they come, you'll be healed. You won't have to be afraid anymore."

"I'm not…" the automatic denial died unsaid.

_Not afraid…_

_These last few months, I've been nothing but afraid…_

* * *

Early morning, heading for Skyland Mountain…

Agent Mulder was driving, Detective Logan riding shotgun. Mulder had felt it was his duty to fill Logan in on the alien perils they might be facing; judging by Logan's expression, the Manhattan detective was bored stiff.

"Mulder," the man lifted a hand. "Until I actually _meet_ one of those, I'm not gonna believe in them, so, please can it! Only reason I'm here is to find Jack McCoy and bring him back home."

Mulder sighed, but kept silent for the rest of the trip. It was Logan who broke the silence, just about ten minutes away from Skyland Mountain.

"What's with all the helicopters?" Logan rolled the window down to get a better look. "I'm counting at least three right now."

Mulder peered up through the windshield.

Yes…

Lots of helicopters; some news copters, and some that had a distinct military look.

A feeling of…dread…stole over him.

"Something's happened," he floored the accelerator.

* * *

Detective Mike Logan got out of the car, vaguely aware of Agent Mulder doing the same.

Logan's stomach churned.

Bodies…all over the place…some charred to a crisp…others not…

_Oh…god…where is Jack McCoy?_

"Scully!" Mulder ran up to where a group of EMTS were working on a victim. A victim with red hair.

So…

Agent Dana Scully, at least, was alive…

Logan looked around. The sight was overwhelming; surrounded by dead bodies, debris, huge sheets of half-melted metal or plastic scattered everywhere, and the bodies…

He couldn't even tell if those charred bodies were male or female.

Cold shivers up his spine...

Was Jack McCoy one of those charred bodies?

In the half-hearted hope that McCoy might have remembered to bring his cell-phone, Logan dialed the man's cell phone number. Then, he listened…

Nothing from the neat rows of dead bodies, and Logan sighed in relief. Then, he heard the faint ring of a cell phone.

_Where?_

He turned around in a circle, ears straining to locate the sound.

A large sheet of metal, and a hand, just barely visible underneath…

" _Hey!_ " he ran over. "Got a body here! _**Help! ******_"

EMTS converged on the scene, wrestling that heavy metal sheet up, straining to keep it up as Logan grabbed that hand and dragged the body out.

Jack McCoy…

Battered, bruised, and bloody.

But alive and breathing.

McCoy's body twitched feebly as Logan knelt by his side, an EMT on the other side, running hands gently over his chest, checking for broken bones. His eyes were half open, but there was no real awareness in them.

"He's concussed," the EMT flashed a penlight in McCoy's eyes, checking the pupils in his eyes.

Logan bent over McCoy, not sure if he heard or not.

"Jack," he said. "We're taking you to the hospital. You're gonna be fine…"

* * *

Floating…warm and peaceful here, Mike Logan's voice a counterpoint…

_Yeah, Adam…he's concussed…cuts and bruises all over. The docs here say he's gonna be fine. I'll bring him home when they get around to releasing him; but that might take some time. Over a hundred people are dead, and he and Agent Scully are the only two survivors. No Adam…he's not a suspect. But he could be a witness, and they'll probably want to question him…_

Jack McCoy lost the rest of it as he fell back down into the darkness…

Sometime later…

He opened his eyes; a face looking down at him, strong-boned, with dark hair.

"Detective Logan?" his voice came out a dusty croak.

"Finally…you're awake…" Logan was his usual grumbly self. "How are you feeling?"

"I…don't know…"

He was missing something. He knew that much, at least.

_Cassandra…_

He moved to sit up, but Logan moved first, hands on his shoulders, easing him back down.

"Where is Cassandra?" he asked.

"They took her," another voice jolted him, and Mike Logan too. Agent Fox Mulder had entered the room.

"You know what I'm talking about," Mulder added.

"No…I don't." McCoy tried to order his memories.

_I was walking by her side, holding her hand. Then…_

Then, he woke up here…

"I don't know what happened."

"You were there, Mr. McCoy," Mulder stood over him.

"I don't remember…" McCoy whispered, trembling, the shaking deep in his bones.

"That's… _it_ , Mulder," It was Mike Logan to the rescue. "It may have escaped your notice, but Jack McCoy isn't exactly working on all thrusters right now; and I'm _not_ gonna let you bully him. Leave him the hell alone."

Mulder stood there, staring at Logan, Logan staring back at Mulder, the challenge thick in the air between them. Then, Mulder sighed, and shook his head. He turned and left, without a word; and McCoy released the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"Get some sleep, Jack," Logan took a seat next to him.

"I thought I was dreaming," McCoy put a hand out, caught Logan's wrist. "Did I hear you tell Adam there were over one hundred dead?"

Logan nodded.

"You and Agent Scully are the only two survivors."

"Cassandra?" dread icing his veins.

"They didn't find her, Jack," the detective sighed. "The bodies have mostly been identified, and she's not there."

"Am I a suspect?"

McCoy didn't like Logan's sigh.

"Not exactly. But, like I've said, you and Scully are the only survivors. Mulder's been demanding that both of you get regressed so-"

"No!" McCoy sat up again. "Absolutely not! I won't put myself through that again! Not _ever_ again!"

"Relax, Jack" Logan's hand on his shoulder. "I'm not gonna let Mulder mess with your marbles. If he wants it that much, he can unscrew Scully's marbles. _You_ are going home, back to Manhattan, so Adam can chew you out."

McCoy lay back, looking up at the ceiling.

"He must be pissed off at me…" he sighed.

"You _think?_ " Logan chuckled. "You up and leave without telling _anyone_ , you forget to bring your medication with you, and you just…go off with these…new friends. What, in all of this, is there for Adam to be pissed off at you about?"

McCoy sighed.

"He's angry…"

" _Livid_ ," Logan assured him. "But he'll cool down once he knows you're okay. For some odd reason, he cares about you. The docs say you'll be travel-ready by tomorrow. We'll leave for Manhattan then."

"I'm sorry," McCoy looked up at Logan. "These days, I only seem to make bad choices."

"Don't sweat it, buddy. You've got friends. Get some sleep."

That was when McCoy knew the apocalypse was nigh…

Detective Mike Logan, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders, Mike Logan tucking him in for the night.

_Yep…_

_The universe is irretrievably fucked…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack McCoy decides...

_Note: James Smith-played by Denis O'Hare-from the Law & Order episode, "Pro Se" will be making a guest appearance._

Safely back at home this past week, Jack McCoy was fully recovered-at least physically-from the events of the _Skyland Mountain Incident._

Mentally and emotionally, it was, of course, another story entirely, the events of that awful day now also appearing regularly in his nightmares.

To add to all the stress, true to Detective Mike Logan's prediction, Agent Fox Mulder had issued a subpoena demanding that Jack McCoy be regressed to uncover his memories of what had happened on Skyland Mountain.

This time, it was Dr. Emil Skoda to the rescue.

 _Mr. McCoy's mental condition is far too precarious,_ the psychiatrist had said. _He suffers from PTSD, and possibly Schizo-affective Disorder as well. Forcing him to remember the traumatic events that unfolded on Skyland Mountain will almost certainly precipitate a relapse. As his doctor, I am forbidding anyone to regress him at this stage._

"Do I really have Schizo-affective order too?" McCoy asked on their next session.

"I think so," Skoda sighed. "When you had the breakdown, you were in a clearly psychotic state."

"Then, why aren't you signing me back into Bellevue Psych?"

"You've been taking your meds, Jack. As such, you're not a danger to yourself, or others. Although, I might reconsider if you pull another stunt like you did going off to Skyland Mountain. _That_ was truly ill-advised."

McCoy nodded. That hadn't been the brightest thing he'd ever done…

"What were you looking for?" Skoda asked him.

"I don't know!" McCoy snapped. "I just want…"

He sighed, rubbed his face.

"I want to go back to what I was before," he finally said.

"The powerhouse Executive Assistant DA," Skoda nodded. "Never bothered by anything, or anyone…"

"Is that so wrong?" McCoy drew a ragged breath. "I _hate_ feeling like this!"

"Vulnerable…weak?"

"Yes!"

_My old man…_

McCoy shivered. He knew damn well what McCoy Senior would have done had he caught his First-born moping around like this…

He felt Skoda lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Recovery will take time, Jack," the psychiatrist said. "And… _honesty_ on your part too."

"Honesty…" McCoy glared at Skoda. "You think I'm lying?"

"That powerhouse prosecutor you've been hiding behind, Jack? Yes. He's a lie, a... _shield_. Two failed marriages, and the breakdown you just had are telling me that. Even worse, he's a lie that isn't working anymore."

McCoy sighed, bowed his head.

_Will I ever feel right again?_

* * *

A few days later, Jack McCoy was standing outside of his apartment building. He was painfully aware that he had some decisions to make, but not enough information with which to make that decision.

To that end, he had expressed a wish to visit Fordham Psychiatric Prison, just a few miles out of the City.

He could easily have taken one of the Metro busses. One of them stopped at the prison hourly. But McCoy had discovered his friends, both from the Courthouse, and from the 27th had woven a protective net around him.

One of them was always on hand to drive him everywhere; medical appointments, grocery shopping, whatever…

McCoy sighed.

_No one's fault but my own…_

This morning, his ride was Lennie Briscoe…

"Counselor," Briscoe put the paper he'd been reading away. "Heard you wanted to go to Fordham. What's that about? Checking out the facilities?"

"It's a _prison_ , Lennie," McCoy sighed. "I need to visit one of the patients."

"Who?"

"James Smith."

"The guy you prosecuted last year?"

"I just…need to talk to him," McCoy said.

"As long as it doesn't get you hurt, Counselor," Lennie got into his car. "We all want you to be well."

"Me too…" McCoy sighed as he secured his seat belt.

He didn't really understand this need to see James Smith.

_Maybe he has answers?_

* * *

_Fordham Psychiatric Prison_

For the life of him, James Smith couldn't understand why Jack McCoy had asked to see him. Initially, Smith had considered refusing McCoy's request. The man had prosecuted him, after all.

But even Smith knew there had been no malice behind it; only a desire to see justice done, and also to see to it that James Smith got the help he needed.

Secondly, Smith was a naturally curious man; and McCoy's request bothered him.

_Why does he want to see me?_

So, here Smith was, waiting in the _Visitors' Room_ , waiting for Jack McCoy.

When the attorney entered, James Smith felt nothing but shock. The man who had entered looked nothing like the man who had prosecuted him the year before.

Gone was the aura of certainty and confidence. The man who stood before him looked… _harrowed_ ; thin, a haunted look to his eyes.

"What happened to you?" the words just came out of Smith; the shock was that great.

McCoy chuckled darkly as he took a seat across from Smith.

"I…" he sighed. "I owe you an apology…"

"A… _apology_ …" totally confused, Smith tilted his head. "Whatever for?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do… _what?_ "

This conversation was getting…unnerving.

McCoy sighed, and tried again.

"How do you live with…" here he waved a hand vaguely, clearly trying to find the right word. " _This_ …"

_Ahh…_

"Mental illness?" McCoy's flinch told Smith everything he needed to know.

"I live with what I've got the same way everyone else lives," Smith said. "One day at a time. What… _happened_ , Counselor?"

McCoy bowed his head, looking ashamed, somehow.

"I had a breakdown last month," he admitted. "I was diagnosed with PTSD, and also with Schizo-affective disorder."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Smith honestly was. He knew what mental illness had done to _his_ life, wouldn't wish that on anyone…

McCoy was trembling, the hurt in him clear to be seen.

"I don't know how to deal with this…"

"Taking any medication?"

"Yes," McCoy nodded tiredly. "For the PTSD, for the nightmares, and for the panic attacks. All of a sudden, there are so many pills…"

"And you're tail-spinning…"

" _Tail-spinning_ …" McCoy repeated the word, seemingly caught by it. "I don't know what to do anymore…"

"I do…" Smith leaned forward, lay a hand on McCoy's hand. "Trust your friends. Let them help you. And, even more important, accept that you have limits; especially now. Don't overtax your strength."

McCoy nodded slowly, and now Smith knew the man was ill. Tears in his eyes, McCoy was falling apart right in front of Smith.

* * *

Jack McCoy stepped outside, feeling embarrassed beyond measure. He had broken down, cried in James Smith's arms, cried like a baby…

_I'm too fragile now…_

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren was waiting for him now.

"Want to go back home now?" she asked as he sat in the passenger seat next to her.

"No…" McCoy realized he had decided, perhaps when crying in James Smith's arms.

"I need to talk to Adam…"

"You all right, Counselor?"

_No…_

Feeling brittle, McCoy closed his eyes, fought the tears back down.

_I want to be what I used to be…_

No chance of that…

Van Buren brought her car to a halt in front of 1 Hogan Place. She stopped McCoy just before he got out of her car, her arms enfolding him in a fierce hug.

"We all love you," her lips brushed his hair. "Whatever happens, remember that."

Making his way up to Adam Schiff's office, ignoring all the curious glances sent his way, knocking on Schiff's office door.

"Come in…"

"Jack!" Schiff stood as McCoy entered, closing the door quietly behind him. "What brings you here, my boy?"

"I…" Jack swallowed, hugging himself. "I…"

All of a sudden, he couldn't find the right words. He knew what he wanted to say, what he _needed_ to say. But the words just wouldn't come.

Schiff guided him to the couch, and gently sat him down, worry in his eyes. He dragged another chair over, sat across from McCoy.

"What's wrong, Jack?" he spoke gently.

"I…" Jack bowed his head, tears pounding in his head. "I need to resign, Adam…"

_"Resign?"_

Adam sat there, shock in his eyes.

"I can't…do this anymore," McCoy couldn't stop the shaking. "It's taking everything I've got just to keep my head above water, and…I...I'm… _drowning_ …Adam."

He was crying again, tears leaking from his eyes. He felt Adam's arms go around him, hold him tightly.

After a while, he regained a tenuous self-control. Adam patted his shoulder, then stood.

"I'm going to call Claire," he said; and McCoy nodded wearily.

He sat there on the couch, head bowed, as Adam made that call.

"Claire, come to my office, please."

"Adam…" Claire Kincaid breezed into Adam's office less than a minute later. Then, she saw McCoy.

"Jack?"

"Claire," Adam spoke. "He's resigning."

"No…" Claire turned to McCoy. "You _can't!_ "

McCoy kept his head bowed as Claire sat next to him.

" _Why_ , Jack?"

"You're ready, Claire," he couldn't look up at her. "You can take my place."

"Jack…"

"I…can't!" McCoy grabbed Claire's hand. "Please…let me go."

Crying again…

"I'm going to call Emil," Adam Schiff spoke quietly. "He can meet us at Bellevue…"

"Adam!" Claire hissed. "You're not going to send him back to-"

" _Don't_ …" McCoy laid his head on Claire Kincaid's shoulder. "I'm… _falling_. And I don't know how to stop it. Please, Claire…I'm tired."

Jack McCoy closed his eyes. He just wanted to... _sleep_...

All he had left was pain…


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam Schiff calls a mutual friend in to help Jack

_Bellevue Psychiatric Unit_

The Hospital staff had given Adam Schiff the rare privilege of sitting by Jack McCoy's bedside, watching as he slept. Schiff had stayed by McCoy's side through the whole Admissions Procedure, had kept an arm firmly around the younger man's shoulder, offering his love and support the only way he could.

The On-site Physician had ordered a bed, and an injection for McCoy.

So, now, Jack McCoy, curled up under warm blankets, was deep in drug-induced slumber.

Schiff sighed as he pulled the blankets up around McCoy's shoulders, tucking him in. The man didn't even stir.

"Vance says his medications need to be reformulated," Emil Skoda entered the small room.

" _This_ was because of his medications?" Schiff was appalled.

"Medications can be…fraught…sometimes," Skoda admitted. "Vance says they'll need to clear Jack's system of the old meds before they try shifting him to the new ones. The first few days will be rough on him. But, once he's clear of the old meds, they'll shift him to the new medications, and hopefully _these_ won't do a number on him too."

"I hope they help him," Schiff looked up. "Jack resigned from his position as my EADA."

He heard Skoda take a breath, and let it out softly.

"He's beginning to realize how ill he really is. I'm sorry, Adam, but he made the right call."

Schiff looked down at his sleeping friend.

"He said he was drowning… _falling_ …" he sighed again. "How can we help him?"

"Jack needs two things, Adam. He needs a place where he can just… _be_ ; a place where no demands will be placed upon him. A place where he can feel…safe."

_A safe place with someone he can trust…_

"I think I know whom I can call," Schiff spoke softly.

_George Atkinson. He'd be glad to help Jack…_

* * *

_Two weeks later_

Jack McCoy felt Emil Skoda's hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of Bellevue.

"We're going to Adam's office," the psychiatrist had said.

McCoy nodded. He felt a little better on these new medications; the crushing depression of before finally gone.

There was a surprise waiting for him when they got to 1 Hogan Place.

Claire Kincaid, clearly uncomfortable with the title of _Acting Executive Assistant DA_ , was there, as was Adam Schiff.

It was the third man that caught Jack McCoy by surprise.

" _George?_ " McCoy just stood there in stunned amazement.

"Hey, kiddo…" George Atkinson walked up to McCoy. "Adam called me, told me you'd been having problems…"

"You're going to stay with George for a while," Adam Schiff explained. "You need to let go of everything, concentrate only on getting well. Emil will come up in a few days, to see how you're doing."

Jack McCoy looked down, tears, again, burning the back of his throat.

"You sure, George?" he asked. "I'm…"

"You're a friend," Atkinson spoke gently. "Let us take care of you…"

McCoy closed his eyes for a minute.

_Concede with grace,_ he told himself. _They want to help…_

James Smith had been right all along…

McCoy had finally come to the realization that he couldn't do _this_ , survive mental illness, without help.

Feeling shy about it all, he looked up, at all his friends.

"I'll need to pack…"

"Already done," Adam Schiff smiled; and Jack McCoy had to smile too.

"You and George planned this between you."

"Guilty as charged," George Atkinson was smiling too.

Jack McCoy saw the suitcase standing against the wall, and the stranger standing there too; a slender man with green eyes and a prosthetic left hand.

"That's Alex," Atkinson explained. "My…chauffeur."

That green-eyed gaze looked Jack McCoy over, appraising him calmly.

"We should go, Jack," Atkinson added. "Before the traffic gets too crazy."

McCoy nodded. He felt Claire Kincaid's arms go around him, holding him tightly; and he felt nothing but regret.

They'd been lovers for a brief time, before Jack's…illness…had manifested itself; and he wished he could go back to what they had been before.

But that wouldn't have been fair to her.

_I love you, Claire…Always will…_

He was glad she was taking his place as Adam's  
EADA. Officially it was only on a pro tem basis, but Jack McCoy knew better…

_I won't be practicing law again…_

Now, it was Adam Schiff hugging him, telling him he would come for a visit later in the week.

_Once you're settled in…_

Then, Jack McCoy followed George Atkinson outside, to the waiting limo…

* * *

George Atkinson felt nothing but guilt as he looked at Jack McCoy, sitting next to him in the limo, head bowed.

"You hungry, kiddo?"

That brought a slight smile.

"Kiddo? George, I'm well over fifty…"

"Yeah?" Atkinson forced himself to smile back. "And I'm well over _eighty_. You'll always be a kid to me. And, I remember when you really _were_ just a kid, one who didn't know his ass from his elbow. I'm proud to say you wised up considerably under my tutelage."

Atkinson leaned forward, tapped the glass partition separating the driver from the passengers.

"Alex," he ordered. "Stop at the first fast food place we see…"

After an early lunch, the drive to George Atkinson's home, a stately manor, only took another three hours.

Once there, Jack McCoy attempted to carry his own luggage, but Alex wasn't having that. The chauffeur got there first, and quickly toted the suitcase up to the room that had been set aside for Jack McCoy.

As for Jack McCoy…

He looked lost…

"This is Rosita," Atkinson introduced him to his Housekeeper.

"Good afternoon, Mr. McCoy," Rosita smiled. "There is tea in the solarium."

"Thank you, Rosita," George took Jack gently by the arm, guided him to the solarium. "I'd offer you stronger, but…"

"Not with _these_ meds…" McCoy sighed.

"No," George Atkinson agreed. Again, guilt assailed him.

No matter how one looked at it, no matter the justifications, it had been the ultimate in betrayal…

_El Rico…_

All of the members of the Consortium had been forced to give up sons, daughters, or spouses, given them up to be…taken…

But George Atkinson, an only child, had never married. No spouse, no children, or other family members; instead, he had been forced to sacrifice his best and brightest student.

Jack McCoy.

"I'll be back in a minute, Jack," he sighed as he settled McCoy on the sofa, by the big pot of Darjeeling.

Then, he stepped out into the hall. Alex was there, with his green eyes and prosthetic arm.

"Tell them I have Jack under my care," he told Krycek.

Krycek nodded.

"Cassandra Spender is also in our custody," the younger man whispered back. "Make sure McCoy doesn't escape."

"He won't," Atkinson couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "He trusts me."

_Trust…_

_What a betrayal of his trust. Jack trusted me to teach him, and now he's trusting me with his life._

But, there had never really been any choice for the Consortium members.

_We were forced to become devils, to betray those we most loved in the world…_

The all-important Project; to create Human Alien Hybrids capable of surviving the Alien Plague, to become the servants of the Alien Masters soon to rule this world.

_We became devils to gain access to the Alien Genome; and with access to that…_

With access to the Alien Genome, there was a chance to fight back, to create a vaccine against the Alien Plague; and it had become a race of sorts…

If the project to create the vaccine succeeded first, then Earth would win.

If the Human Alien Hybrid project succeeded first, the Alien Colonists would win.

The vaccine Project was very close to full success; a _weak vaccine_ had already been created. It would take at least another year to create a true vaccine, one capable of resisting the Plague to come.

But it was too late now…

Against all odds, no matter how often the Consortium had stalled and hedged…

The Human Alien Project had succeeded; and not just once…

_Twice…_

_Two successfully created Human Alien Hybrids…_

Cassandra Spender had been one success.

Guilt, and grief, choked George Atkinson as he entered the Solarium.

The other successful Human Alien Hybrid was Jack McCoy…


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Atkinson makes Jack McCoy remember...
> 
> Warning, a little nudity here...

_Note: George Atkinson is the Second Elder on the X-Files, played by the late, great George Murdock…_

George Atkinson walked into the solarium, eyes on Jack McCoy. He had spoken with CGB Spender just a few minutes ago, and the Smoking Man's orders had been clear.

_Mr. McCoy must be made to remember all of what has been done to him._

_We've hurt him enough..._ Atkinson had protested.

_Ignorance, in his case, may be bliss,_ Spender had countered. _But, in the end, he must learn what we have done to him, what he is…_

Atkinson sighed. Second Elder in the Consortium, he had access to tools even the rank-and-file members did not; including the little thing he stuffed into a pocket.

He didn't want to make Jack McCoy remember what they had done to him. He had seen the video-tapes, and even the tapes showing what was done to complete strangers was harrowing.

Seeing… _that_ …done to a dear friend, though…

Atkinson sighed again.

The Smoking Man was right.

_Jack does need to know what we did to him, and he needs to know why…_

There hadn't been a choice…

So, the…Memory Suppressor in his pocket, George Atkinson walked into the solarium.

The solarium was apparently Jack McCoy's favorite room in Atkinson's house, and George could understand why…

McCoy sat there, eyes closed, bathed in solar radiance…

In spite of himself, and the hurt he was about to inflict on his friend, George had to smile…

"You like it here, kiddo…"

"Yeah…" McCoy sighed. "It's…peaceful."

Right now, Jack McCoy reminded him of a cat lazing in the afternoon sun. Atkinson sighed again as he brought out the suppressor.

"Look at me, Jack," he commanded. Jack opened his eyes with a sigh. The thing, turned on, began to emit a high, piercing whine, a light blinking rapidly on top.

Abruptly, McCoy's pupils dilated, his breath catching as his body went rigid.

"Jack," Atkinson ordered. "I want you to remember…El Rico, and everything that came after…"

Jack McCoy sat there for a minute, breath hitching, body twitching. Then, he collapsed. George Atkinson caught him as he slid from the couch, and eased him down to the floor…

* * *

_November, 1973_

_On his bike, Jack McCoy relishes the feeling of pure freedom, the bike's power as it screams down the road, wind whipping at his clothes, his jacket streaming out behind…_

_Light…brilliant… **blinding** …_

_McCoy's hands lose the handlebars as the bike skids out from under. There is impact, followed by darkness…_

_Jack McCoy opens his eyes to brilliant light. He can't move. He's strapped down on a cold slab, strapped down by wrists, elbows, ankles and knees._

_Spider-thin fingers take his bike helmet off. Other hands roam across his body, hands with scissors. The scissors quickly cut his clothing-jacket, shirt, jeans, even underwear-away, and now Jack is naked, pinned down on that cold slab._

_A hand grabs McCoy's head, none too gently, forcing him to look up._

_At his captors..._

_He can't stop the whimper of terror from escaping._

_Bodies too skinny for their height, heads too big for the bodies, and the eyes…too big for the heads, and too…too **black** to be real…_

_Terrified, he tries to pull free of the restraints…._

_Those spidery hands on his body again, one hand grabbing his jaw, turning his head left to right, as if testing the articulation of his neck._

_Another hand clamps his head in a vise, whilst other hands come to rest, palms down, on his bare chest, gently pressing upon ribs and belly._

_A blink later, and Jack McCoy, naked, strapped down upon the cold slab, is alone. He can hear the whirr of machinery, tries to locate the sound. He can't move, his head caught in that vise. He peers upward, the only direction he can look, and there it is…_

_The drill…_

_Eyes gone wide in terror, forced to watch as the drill descends…_

* * *

Huddled against the couch, head resting on George Atkinson's shoulder…

Jack McCoy remembered…everything…

_**Them** …Their eyes…their hands…_

McCoy curled up, tears choking him.

It had been a rape, of sorts. Nothing even remotely sexual about the assault. But, naked, strapped down like that, pinned down like an insect…

They had… _violated him_ …tubes…lab instruments…in every part of his body…

But the worst part of all was the knowing…

_George…_

White-hot fury sizzled through Jack McCoy.

* * *

"You… _gave_ me to them!" Jack McCoy accused

Atkinson sighed as McCoy pulled away, anguish in his eyes.

"Yes," George nodded sadly. "But we had no choice, Jack…"

"No choice?" McCoy clutched at the couch, tried, unsuccessfully, to pull himself up.

"No…choice?" he spat. "They tortured me! They… _raped_ …me!"

"Yes, Jack. I know what they did to you. I…saw."

"You…saw," Jack stilled, sat there, crouched by the sofa, eyes disbelieving.

"Why?" he demanded. "What possible reason could you have?"

"What reason?" Atkinson sighed. "We had every reason in the world; and it's time you were told..."

So, George Atkinson told Jack McCoy; he told him...

_Everything._

The Alien Colonists, the Rebel Colonists, and the Project.

"No…" McCoy sat there, after George had finished, shaking, white to the lips. "That's not possible!"

"It's true!" George grabbed Jack's hand. "The Project was our attempt to guarantee our survival in the coming Alien Holocaust."

"They drilled into my head, George, into my _brain_. What…Project could possibly justify all of that?"

"It was our attempt to create true Human Alien Hybrids, Jack. Hybrids capable of surviving the coming Alien Plague. And we succeeded. In spite of everything we tried to slow the process, in spite of our attempts to fail, we succeeded. Not just once, Jack. We succeeded twice, two different people. You remember Cassandra Spender?"

McCoy nodded fearfully.

"She's one of... _them?_ "

"Yes, Jack…" Atkinson sighed again. "She's one of our two successes. But, it's our second success that concerns me now."

* * *

The grief in George's eyes made Jack McCoy quail deep inside.

"Me?" he whispered, dreading the answer. George nodded sadly.

"Yeah Jack…" the older man said. "You."

"No…" McCoy shook his head. "I can't…I just can't be… _that_."

"But you are, Jack," tears in George's eyes and voice. "You are a Human Alien Hybrid."

"Prove it!" McCoy struggled to his feet. "I know you can't."

George stood too, eyes full of sorrow.

"Give me your hand, Jack," he held out his own hand. McCoy stood there, staring at George's hand.

"You betrayed me," he whispered, tears clawing up the back of his throat.

"I did," George agreed. "But you wanted proof."

Reluctantly, McCoy reached out, his right hand brushing against George's hand. Sudden pain exploded in his right palm. George had slashed his hand with this little pen-knife.

"Son of a b-"

McCoy's curse died in the back of his throat. He stared down at his bleeding right palm.

_Green…_

Green blood welled from the wound. Horrified, McCoy watched as the wound began to close, right in front of his eyes, shrinking until it was gone, leaving unbroken flesh, and a crust of green grit…

McCoy's legs collapsed under him as he stared at his hand, at the _proof_ he had so cockily demanded.

"I'm not…human…" he whispered, still looking at his hand.

"No, Jack…" George admitted. "Not entirely."

Dazed, McCoy looked up. It was dark outside now, evening. He didn't know what to do.

"Why?" he asked. "Why do…this?"

"To save as much of Earth as we can," George laid gently hands on McCoy's shoulders. "You and Cassandra are the New Humans of Tomorrow; designed to survive the Alien Holocaust."

"Adam? Claire? My friends at the Courthouse, and the 27th?"

"No, Jack," George shook his head. "Everyone else will die. You and Cassandra are to be the New Life."

"It's got to be stopped!" Jack tried to get to his feet again, but George stopped him.

"It's too late, Jack. They're taking Cassandra to El Rico tonight. It starts tonight."

" _It_?"

The Holocaust, kiddo. It starts tonight."

"It can't be stopped?"

McCoy believed him. But that meant…

The world was going to end.

Tonight.

_Adam…Claire…_

"They're going to take me again too, aren't they?" the thought of being taken again... _raped_ again, choked him with terror

"Yeah…" George nodded, tears in his eyes.

McCoy bowed his head..

"I'd rather die…" he muttered.

"Jack?"

"Help me end this, George," Jack grabbed the older man's hand. "It needs to end. _I_ need it to end."

"Kiddo…" McCoy felt George's arms go around him again, hold him tight.

Then, George Atkinson stood.

"I'll be back,"

He returned about five minutes later, a gun in his hands. He held it out to Jack McCoy.

Jack looked at the gun, took it. A gun was George's answer? There was no other way to end this?

_I don't want to die..._ …

The front doorbell rang, startling McCoy.

"Emil?"

"No," George was startled too. "He called earlier, said he was delayed, might not get in until closer to midnight. I told him he can just let himself in. I mailed him a key."

McCoy stood, hiding the gun in the waistband of his jeans, the light sweater over his shirt hiding any trace of it. Rosita had the evening off, so it was George who answered the door himself, McCoy following him out into the foyer…

And everything happened, all at once…

The door flew open, knocking George Atkinson to the ground, and Jack McCoy stood there, paralyzed by terror at what came in through that opened door.

Three men had entered, and their faces…

Faces like melted wax, eyes, ears, noses, and mouths, sealed…

One bent over George, as the older man struggled to his feet, a small stick in his hand, and George…

His body burst into flames, anguished cries rending the air…

_God…_

McCoy stood there, the gun poking him in the ribs, and it never even occurred to him to fire it. George's screams rent the air, and Jack McCoy...

He had reached a limit...

There was too much horror, both in what he had learned about himself- _real men don't bleed green_ -and now, seeing George Atkinson die, so horribly, right in front of his eyes; and George's killers, looking at him, moving forward...

Jack McCoy fled, blind terror giving him an adrenaline burst of speed.

He ran to the back of the house, out onto the back lawn, aware of _them_ right behind, and, if they caught him…

Jack McCoy knew he might have to die; either that or let the...aliens take him. But, he didn't want to die, and he certainly didn't want to die like George.

_Burned alive..._

Bullets shredded the air around him, and it seemed the Men with Melted Faces also had guns. But the bullets all missed McCoy, and he continued his headlong flight, away from the carnage…

The ground gave away under his feet, and he tumbled, head over heels, hit the ground, and rolled back to his feet.

McCoy was out in the wild now, brambles tearing at his clothes, hands, and face.

They had burned George Atkinson…burned him to death…

Tripping over roots, stumbling over rocks, McCoy continued to run in blind terror. A chasm opened up before him, and he tumbled yet again, breath smacked out of his lungs, stars exploding inside his skull.

_Concrete_ …

He was lying on concrete.

"Watch it, asshole!" a car horn honked indignantly. "Get off the fucking road!"

Jack McCoy hauled himself painfully to his feet, gun still poking his ribs. There was what looked like a bus stop on the other side of the busy street.

McCoy limped across the street, ignoring all the car horns and curses thrown his way, aching from head to foot.

His eyes darted about the well-lit area, searching for…

Men with faces like melted wax…

He shuddered at the memory of George's death, hoped a bus would turn up soon.

A Greyhound Bus turned up, bound for New York City; and McCoy had just enough cash in his wallet to buy the ticket. He wearily laid his head against the window as the bus began to move.

_Going home_ …

The feel of the gun, against his ribs, reminded him of…everything.

_I'm a danger to all of my friends…_

Jack McCoy didn't want to die.

_Adam…Claire…_

He closed his eyes, let the rumbling of the bus lull him into something approaching sleep.

McCoy knew he would have to do... _something_. Maybe even die. But he needed to get back to the City first. If he had to die, it would be in a place where he felt he belonged.

_Home..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes home to die...
> 
> There is blood.

Dr. Emil Skoda, on his way to George Atkinson's house. It was almost one in the morning now. A serious multicar pileup had occurred on the highway, clogging all the alternate routes for miles in every direction.

_I should have taken a plane…_

Feeling weary on arrival, Skoda was faced by an alarming sight. Scores of police cruisers everywhere, lights awhirl, police everywhere, and the FBI too.

Alarm sliding along his nerves, Skoda got out of his rental car. A cop walked up to him.

"What happened?" Skoda demanded.

"Home invasion," was the cop's terse response. "Several casualties."

_A home invasion? Dear god…Jack McCoy…_

"A friend of mine was here," Skoda began. "I-"

"Dr. Skoda…"

He turned, to see George Atkinson's chauffeur walk up, accompanied by a young FBI agent. The FBI agent looked a little green about the gills.

"FBI Agent Jeffrey Spender," Alex made the introductions. Skoda nodded impatiently.

"What happened?"

"Home invasion," Agent Spender's voice trembled. "We think four men. They killed George Atkinson."

"What about Jack McCoy?" cold dread filled Skoda.

"There are three bodies out back," Alex took over. "All three burned, all three unidentifiable."

"Let me see them," Skoda had to see, had to make sure one way or the other…

Agent Spender led Skoda into the house. A body lay in the living room.

George Atkinson?

It looked like him…sort of…but the face looked like it had been made of melted wax.

The three other bodies lay at the back of the house, all burned...charred to a blackened crisp, all unidentifiable.

Skoda drew in a deep breath.

Two of the bodies were too big…too heavily built to be Jack McCoy. The third body, though…

Around six feet tall, and lean…

_No…please…no._

Skoda knelt by the body, looked it over. The charred body lay on its left side, right arm flung up as if to shield its face, right hand clearly visible.

The Ring finger was bare.

_No signet ring._

Not definitive proof by any stretch of the imagination…

But Jack McCoy always wore that signet ring. Even through the breakdown, and the subsequent hospitalizations, he had never taken that signet ring off.

Skoda heaved a sigh of relief.

"It's not Jack McCoy," he stood, faced Agent Spender. "Did you find anything else?"

"Someone apparently fled the scene," Spender nodded. "Initially we thought it might be one of…them. But if Mr. McCoy is missing, maybe he just…ran for his life."

He stepped outside, onto the back lawn, Skoda following.

"There's a bit of a drop at the back of the lawn. If he ran straight through, there's another drop about a hundred yards past the first one. _That_ one would dump you out onto a major street. It's a major thoroughfare. Busses use it, including the Interstate ones, like Greyhound."

"Did you check the nearby police stations or hospitals?" Skoda asked. "Running away like that…"

_Running, possibly in terror for his life…A good way to get killed._

"We checked," Spender nodded. "The only out-of-tune thing was here. No _John Does_ found anywhere, in police stations or hospitals. I think he found a bus."

Skoda stood, thinking.

_I need to tell Adam…_

"May I use a phone?" he asked.

The phone rang three times…

"Who the hell is this?"

Adam Schiff's voice sounded a touch testy.

_Phone call close to two in the morning? I'd be grumpy too…_

"It's me, Adam," Skoda apologized. "We have a problem…"

He heard the catch in Schiff's breath.

"There was a home invasion, Adam. George Atkinson's dead. Jack McCoy's gone. The cops think he fled the scene, and I don't really blame him. He might try to come home."

"I see…"

There was a minute's silence. Then Schiff spoke again.

"You coming back?"

"Yeah…" Skoda sighed. "I'll get in touch as soon as I get back."

He hung up, rubbed his face wearily.

"I can drive you to the airport," Alex offered.

* * *

_Port Authority, NYC, 7 AM_

Jack McCoy stepped off the bus, feeling...fried.

There were things he had to do, decisions he had to make.

There was George Atkinson's gun, tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

_Is that what I'm supposed to do?_

McCoy looked through his wallet; less than three dollars left.

He went to his banks nearest 24-hour ATM, and withdrew some cash. If he had to die…

_Even a Convict on Death Row gets a Final Meal…_

From there, he found a decent diner.

There was a TV playing, showing a news program, so McCoy perched on a stool and gave his order.

He was watching the news as the waiter placed his order-bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee-in front of him.

A breaking news story was on, helicopters hovering over an abandoned airbase.

_El Rico…_

Jack McCoy remembered El Rico now. He remembered all of what had been done to him there. He stared at the TV screen, fork halfway to his mouth.

Hundreds of men and women, all dead, all burned to death…

It was the body of a woman, found strapped to a gurney, which sent McCoy's pulse racing.

Burned alive like all the others, but, even through all the char, Jack McCoy recognized her, knew who she was…

_Cassandra Spender…_

McCoy stood shakily, fumbling for his wallet, hunger gone. He threw a twenty on top of the half-full plate, and fled outside.

He remembered Cassandra now; all of the times they had met as fellow prisoners…

The times she had cried in his arms…

The times he had cried in her arms…

The one time they had kissed…

Cassandra Spender…dead.

He fell to his knees just outside the diner, rested his head against the faux brick wall, and wept.

Cassandra Spender was dead. Now, there was only one Human Alien Hybrid left.

_Me…_

No choice but to go home, and do…what he had to do…

Jack McCoy quietly left himself into his apartment, closed the door softly behind him. The morning sun was just beginning to brighten the windows in his living room with all the bookshelves…

There were new messages on his phone; four of them.

He pressed _play._

All four from Adam Schiff, all four variations on, _please call me as soon as you can!_

Jack couldn't, of course; not with what lay ahead, with what he had finally decided to do.

He grabbed a sheaf of blank paper, began to write feverishly.

_Dear Adam,_

_I know this will hurt you. I wish this wasn't necessary. Even more, I wish I could explain this to you, make you understand. But I can't. All I can say is this…_

_I'm sorry._

_With love,_

_Jack_

The phone rang. McCoy picked it up.

"Jack?" Adam Schiff. "Is that you?"

McCoy blinked the tears away.

"Adam…" he sighed.

"Jack…I'm coming over. I'll-"

"No, Adam! Everything's…"

_No…_

Nothing was fine. He was preparing to die…

"I'm sorry, Adam," he muttered. "So sorry…"

Jack McCoy hung up and stood, the grip of George Atkinson's gun poking him in the ribs. The phone rang again, but he ignored it as he picked up the gun, and held it in his hands.

_I'll stand between the table and the heavy bookshelf. The bookshelf will catch the bullet…_

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to die.

_They'll take me again…_

He knew they would; with Cassandra dead, McCoy was the only one left alive from their precious Project. They _would_ take him again.

He shivered at the memories; memories of how they had taken him, stripped him of everything, including his dignity, how they had bound him, naked, upon that cold hard slab…

The tubes…the tests…and the drills…

The migraines had started after El Rico. Before El Rico, migraines were things that happened to other people…

McCoy shivered.

_They drilled into my brain, made me into something other than human…_

_I… **won't** …_

_Not any more…_

Jack McCoy carefully placed himself, back against the wall, bracketed by the heavy bookshelf on his left, and the table, with the lamp, on his right.

Gun in his right hand, he lifted it slowly.

_I don't want to die…_

He was a Human Alien Hybrid. As long as he lived, all of humanity was endangered; those he loved most in the world…

Sighing, he placed the barrel of the gun firmly against his right temple; forcing the shaking out of his limbs.

_Adam…Claire…_

_I'm sorry…_

* * *

Adam Schiff glared at his phone.

_Not answering…_

Fearful, he dialed another number.

"Detective Lennie Briscoe…"

"It's Adam, Lennie. Meet me at Jack's place."

"Isn't Jack McCoy at a friend's place, Counselor?"

"No time to explain!" Adam snapped. "Jack's back, and I…I think he's going to do something… _suicidal._ "

"I'm on it, Counselor,"

Adam Schiff hung up too, and dashed outside to catch the first cab he found.

He arrived at Jack McCoy's apartment building just as Briscoe and Logan pulled up in their sedan; and all three ran into the building, taking the elevator to the third floor.

Adam Schiff stepped out of the elevator, just in time to hear a gunshot ring out…

He stopped, right there, in the hall, shock paralyzing his limbs.

"Stay back, Counselor," Briscoe and Logan surged forward, guns drawn.

"Jack!" Lennie pounded on McCoy's apartment door. "You okay in there?"

No response…

He nodded to Logan.

Then, he yelled, "Police!" as Logan kicked the door in.

The two detectives slipped inside, and Schiff heard nothing. Feeling hesitant, he stepped forward.

Detective Briscoe stepped outside a minute later, features grim, and…sad…all at the same time.

"Jack..?" Schiff moved forward, only to feel Briscoe's hands on his shoulders.

"You don't want to see this, Counselor…" the detective said.

Grief keened deep in Schiff's chest.

"I know, Detective Briscoe…I know…"

He didn't want to see it. But…he _had_ to…

Perhaps Briscoe understood. He shook his head, sighed softly, then stepped out of Schiff's way.

Detective Logan stood just inside the messy living room, staring off to the right, numb horror in his eyes. Schiff simply followed the younger man's gaze…

Jack McCoy…slumped against the wall, sitting more or less upright, right shoulder caught on the edge of the table, right knee folded...

The gun dangled from the fingers of his right hand; the dark head was bowed, and there was so much blood…

_God…_

Schiff knelt before the body. Blood had sprayed down from the bullet-hole in Jack McCoy's right temple; the right side of his body drenched with it, along with the blood that had poured from his nose; bright, arterial red, but with an odd, slightly... _greenish_...cast…

The eyes were open…staring…

Dead.

_Jack…my boy…_

He heard Lennie Briscoe behind him, dialing on the phone.

"Detective Briscoe here. We need a ME…dead on the scene…Jack McCoy's place…"

* * *

Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers picked up the phone, smiling at a crude joke made by one of her assistants.

Then, she heard Lennie's voice on the line; and she felt all the color flee from her face, taking her smile with it…

_Jack McCoy…found dead in his apartment; a single gunshot to the head…_

Rodgers could have sent one of her assistants out. But Jack McCoy was one of their _own_ …

She went out herself, driving the big van, with its gurney, and the...body bag…

It was a terrible thing to see, Jack McCoy slumped against the wall, his blood making a smear on the wall.

"Did you touch anything?" she asked.

"Just the gun," Adam Schiff spoke from his place at McCoy's side.

"Not to worry," he added. "We're not going to hide that he killed himself. Jack wouldn't have appreciated the dishonesty. Lennie has the gun."

Briscoe mutely held up the plastic baggie with the gun inside, and Rodgers nodded.

She knelt next to Adam Schiff, looked at Jack McCoy, looked at the open eyes, with their dilated pupils, looked at the still chest.

As gently as possible, she took McCoy's head in her gloved hands, probed the gunshot wound.

_Small caliber gunshot wound, no exit wound...still in his brain..._

There was gunpowder residue clear on the right side of McCoy's head, on his right hand, and all over his shirt, mixed now with all of the blood.

"I'm sorry," she turned her head to face Adam Schiff. "It's suicide."

"I know…" Schiff reached out, hand cupping the left side of McCoy's jaw. "Please, let me have a minute before I consign him into your care…"

"Yes…" Elizabeth Rodgers stood and stepped back, giving Adam Schiff the space, and time, to grieve…

* * *

Adam Schiff knelt there. The hand caressing McCoy's jaw moved, fingers gently pressing eyelids closed.

_We did everything we could to save him…_

It wasn't enough…

Schiff reached out, took McCoy's body by the shoulders, pulled the body to him, held it close, and felt the man's forehead come to rest upon his shoulder.

_My boy…my dear boy…_

He held Jack McCoy for a few minutes more, the body still warm in his arms…

It was time…

"Lennie," he asked. "Help me…"

With Briscoe's help, he moved Jack McCoy's body away from the wall, laid him down _properly_ , on his back, arms and legs straightened out.

Then, it was time for the ME's assistants to do their job, to slide the body into the body bag, and zip it closed…

* * *

_JFK Airport_

Exhausted, Dr. Emil Skoda stood in the airport, travel bag slung over a shoulder. He had planned to take a cab back into Manhattan.

But Lieutenant Anita Van Buren was there, waiting for him.

"Anita?" somehow, he knew he wasn't going to hear anything good.

"Adam called," grief in Van Buren's eyes. "Jack's dead. He killed himself early this morning."

Emil Skoda stood there, travel bag fallen from suddenly numb fingers.

Now, _here_ , in the Morgue, looking at Adam Schiff and Claire Kincaid, as they stood over a sheet-draped body…

Skoda was aware of Liz Olivet standing right next to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Olivet's voice trembled slightly.

"Do _you?_ " Skoda snapped back. Then, he sighed.

"Sorry, Liz…"

_Physician, heal thyself…_

"I suppose I could carve some personal time out for…counseling…" he finally admitted.

_We worked so hard, all of us, trying to save him…_

"How about you?" he asked Olivet.

She nodded sadly…

"I'll counsel you," she said. "And you'll counsel me."

She drew in a breath, and wiped her eyes.

"And, then…" she continued, looking at Adam Schiff and Claire Kincaid. "We'll counsel _them._ "

Skoda nodded. He looked through the window, at the grieving pair

"Yes…" he sighed. "They'll need it…"


End file.
